What The Water Gave Him
by RomanDeLaRose
Summary: Five years after Edwin Drood's disappearance, John Jasper and Rosa Bud meet again in dark and unexpected circumstances.
1. Chapter 1

I have a few words of introduction to say before I start my story. I must warn those of you who read _The Blossoming of the Bud_ that this is very much darker in tone and more in keeping with the book - consequently there are some pretty ferocious levels of angst ahead.

I'm continuing where Dickens left off, without regard to the TV series, though I think I quote the odd bit of non-Dickensian dialogue from it at one point. The action starts five years after the disappearance of Edwin, and Rosa (as Dickens seemed to intend in the book) has married the sailor she met in London, Mr Tartar.

The story was very strongly inspired and influenced by the Florence and the Machine song _What The Water Gave Me_ (no? really!) so I would suggest listening to it if you aren't familiar with it. I don't expect I'm allowed to link to it here but there's a terrific version on youtube (don't have the volume at full blast, though, because it distorts horribly).

**Chapter One**

Nothing was left of him now but remnants.

Remnants of a body, for opium had wasted him, hollowed his face, sunk his eyes into their sockets, stretched translucent flesh over bone.

Remnants of a mind, his once-keen wits dulled by the narcotic dreams, ambition replaced by delusion.

Remnants of a life, the piano now out of tune, a blank rectangle on the wall where a picture had once hung. Her image, torn down, burnt, nothing but ashes.

Around him in the room lay the clutter of addiction: broken pipes, empty vials, spent matches. This was his life now, these remnants.

"I am in tatters," he murmured, looking through the gatehouse window at the distant spire. He would never set foot in that building again. Finally, his dissolution had reached its nadir and the cathedral authorities could no longer turn an indulgent blind eye to it. His post was gone, and with it his lodging.

They had made allowances for so long now. Five years since Edwin…went. The whispers followed him every where. "Poor soul, he is unmanned by the death of the boy. But surely it is time he stopped giving in to this grief. Surely he is making himself ill."

There was nowhere for him to go. From the gatehouse to the workhouse. But no. That was not for him.

He looked over at the table. One last pipe? What was left was poor stuff and he couldn't afford any more. There would be no pleasure in the dregs. But perhaps it would steel his nerves.

He settled instead on taking a long draught of what remained in the decanter, then he put on his coat.

He walked out to the marshes and across them to the sea. The sun was very low now, and the water dark. Every so often, whenever he saw a large rock or stone, he picked it up and put it in his pocket.

As he stumbled over the uneven ground, he heard the dusk chorus of the marshland birds. "Little singing bird," he muttered to himself. "Fly away home." He tried a note or two, but it was useless now. The music was gone. It had been the last thing to leave his soul, but nothing now remained of that once-great passion.

His mind rushed with the enormity of what he planned to do. He felt as if some kind of struggle should be taking place in his breast, something to do with conscience. But how could he lay claim to one of those, after the life he had led? Perhaps it was simply absent. But he had had one once. He thought he had.

Efforts of memory were useless. What had been real and what an opium dream was no longer knowable. In the ruins of his mind, sometimes he thought he saw a light, but more often a blighted landscape of rubble and smoke. Hell.

That gave him pause. Was this place worse than hell? Should he try to eke out his days until that particular descent was inevitable? Yet it seemed he already lived there, in every respect but the corporeal. If he went to the devil, at least the torments would stop the endless grind of his thoughts. And perhaps there would be no hell at all and he would simply fade into silence.

The heady relief of this prospect quickened his footsteps until he came close to the shore. The water lapped at the banks, splashing here and there. A gust of wind whipped it up, sending a shiver over the surface.

He put his hands in his pockets, his fingers closing around the stones, feeling their shapes, their curves and knobs. He walked to the edge and looked out to sea, to the ships on their way into Chatham docks, dark outlines dotted with light.

Perhaps _he_ was on one of those ships, coming home to his Rosa. He screwed up his face, swallowing bitterness, hands tightening over the stones. One foot reached out to the depths.

A sound from further along the bank, to the right, stopped him in his tracks. At first he thought it some small animal, keening and snuffling on the other side of a clump, but then it spoke, though the words were indistinct.

A woman's voice, high with tears, shaky but familiar.

John Jasper retracted his foot and turned in the direction of the speaker. At first he crept, stealthy, listening to make out the words.

"I am coming to you, my love. We will be together again."

Then there was a light splash and a sharp inhalation, another shiver and a wail.

"Oh, it's so cold. But so are you. My poor, cold darling."

Now Jasper ran, up to the top of a small hillock, from which vantage point the figure of a young woman was clearly visible, wading out from the shallows towards the place where the sea bed shelved away into a deeper stretch of water.

She had fallen to her knees, her golden hair streaming down her back, and now she was singing. That voice. He recalled it so piercingly that his heart, that shrivelled thing, seemed to expand to bursting. That little scrap of sound that he had schooled and trained until it was sweeter and brighter than anyone imagined it could be…Oh, she could not do this.

He threw off his coat, flung his boots into the grassy tussocks and took to the water, finding strength and speed in his urgency.

She stopped singing and turned her head, but she perhaps did not recognise him in the darkness.

"Oh, who is there? Please go. Please don't rescue me."

She bent forward and her head disappeared under the waves. Jasper, heedless of the cold and the wet weight in his clothes, lunged forward desperately. The slack waters lapped around him, pouring into his mouth and nose as he stumbled forwards, but none of that mattered, nothing mattered save that she should not die.

He caught hold of something, her shawl perhaps, and had to throw the sodden thing aside, reaching out again. Yes, her arm.

She struggled to throw him off but he managed to drag her back and pin her against him. He pulled her upright, her head cresting the water while she spluttered and screamed.

He staggered and almost let go of her half a dozen times before they reached the bank, but somehow he still possessed enough force to prevent her from succeeding in her desperate fight for escape.

In some dim recess of his mind Jasper clung to enough belief in God to thank Him for not allowing him to smoke that last pipe, nor to linger at the gatehouse until the withdrawal pains were upon him. Nothing could have saved her then.

He hauled her on to the bank where she lay, gasping and sodden, and took as many deep breaths as he could, preparing himself for the effort of strength that lay ahead. It was fully dark now, and the sky was clouded, threatening rain.

Rosa seemed too far out of her senses to make any attempt at speech, or to recognise him. When, having put his boots and coat back on, he reached down to pick her up, she lunged at him and said some indistinct words. "Off," perhaps, and "me". Now was not the time for deciphering her ravings, though, and he put everything that was not essential to her survival from his mind. He needed to get her to a place of warmth and security and no other object would cross his mind until this was achieved.

He used to dream of holding her in his arms; in his fantasies she had been light as a wafer, all ethereal and silken and smelling of peach blossom. Now, in her soaked skirt and its volume of petticoats, she weighed heavily and she clawed at his face so he had to hoist her over his shoulder if he was to make any headway at all. This was not how he had dreamt it. And yet it was somehow more beautiful than any of his imaginings by far.

"I have you," he said to himself, swaying off on the long journey towards the town, his arms clamped across the backs of her knees so she couldn't kick. Little blows from her fists fell ineffectually between his shoulder blades at first, but she soon tired of it, and he felt her droop there, her exhausted sobs mingling with his footfalls and the night sounds of the marsh. "You're safe."

He supposed she must have shut her eyes, perhaps she had even fallen into unconsciousness, for she made no sign of recognising where they were when he unlocked the door in the arch; she simply hung there all the heavier. He should have laid her on the shore, he should have pumped the water from her lungs. But he had been too overwhelmed by panic, too desperate to take her to safety. What if his negligence had resulted in her death?

By accident, he grazed her head against the wall during their ascent of the stair, and she twitched and wriggled over his shoulder again, coming back to life.

Thank God.

He carried her through the living room and into the bedroom, setting her down on the narrow bed.

"Who are you? What is this place?" she cried out, trying to sit up.

"Lie still," he said. "I will light a candle."

"Oh, I know your voice. Who are you? Why have you followed me? I did not want to be followed."

Jasper found a match that wasn't spent and a candle that hadn't guttered – quite an undertaking amongst all the detritus – and let a low flicker of light into the gloom.

Rosa's face glowed before him, her eyes round with horror, her hand over her mouth. Slowly she took it away.

"Oh, it is you," she said. "Or perhaps I am in hell. Is this hell?"

"It may well be, but you are still among the living."

She shuddered violently and he saw tears in her eyes.

"Even if I am alive, I do not know if I look upon John Jasper or his ghost."

"I think I may well be my own ghost. I have haunted myself this past five years."

"What has happened to you? You are so thin."

He made no reply, having no more words left, nor any desire to do anything but look at her, at her waxen face and her puffy eyes, her matted hair and the curl of seaweed clinging at her throat.

"You are frightening me," she whispered.

Her fear stirred him. He crouched down, seeking spare blankets beneath the bed and putting them beside her.

"You should get those wet things off," he said. "Wrap yourself up. I will light a fire in the other room. I may have some tea in the caddy."

She made no move but simply looked up at him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes tormented.

"You will take cold. Remove them, Rosa, or I shall have no alternative but to do it myself."

Her hands moved rapidly to her bodice and he left the room. On shutting the door, he leant back against it and put his hands over his face.

What could be the meaning of this? Rosa Bud, undressing, in his room, having had her life saved by him. He had never had much belief in fate – no, he liked to help it along – but what had happened out there in the marshes seemed mystical in its significance. But was it even real? Or had he imagined it.

"Oh God, am I dreaming this?" he groaned.

He tried to dismiss the possibility by looking for the tea caddy and filling the kettle. While he dug around in the dregs of the leaves, the first shivers of the evening's withdrawal pains rattled through him. So it wasn't a dream. It was real.

He stopped dead and waited for the spasm to subside. It lacked the ferocity of recent evenings. His diminution in opium use, forced by financial necessity, was at least taking the edge off the torture.

If he knelt to set the fire, the cramps were less debilitating. His bony fingers worked to light the miserable mess of coke and half-charred papers and ash that lay in the grate. He had burned the last of his musical scores the previous night and tiny fragments of melody were visible in the dirt, a few bars here and there.

"Rosa is here," he said to himself, watching a faint orange glow spread itself amidst the blackness. He rehearsed her name again, experimenting with the effect it had on him. "Rosa. Rosa Bud. My Rosebud."

How her very name had once inflamed him. He recalled a time when he could think of nothing but how she would feel beneath his touch, her lips, yielding to him. He had been quite mad with it. One of the few kindnesses of opium was its ability to reduce and finally extinguish physical desire. At least he had been freed of that, though it had taken a long time, longer than with most, his passions being stronger than those of the common man.

She had been married for two years before the all-consuming longings and the wakeful, lustful nights had ended. He shut his eyes and breathed through another spasm, forcing the memory of her wedding day out of his mind. He had stood by the water's edge that night too, but something had held him back, some inkling or presentiment that all might not yet be lost.

All at once the realisation struck him. Her husband, the sailor, was dead. That was why she had gone to the water. He put the kettle on its stand and warmed his hands.

He was still wearing wet clothes. He hadn't even noticed. But what of it if he caught a chill and it galloped into fever and killed him? One death was as good as another.

_If I go, who will care for Rosa?_

The question inserted itself into his mind, demanding notice.

"Fool," he muttered. "She has any amount of people to care for her. Grewgious, Miss Twinkleton, the young Mrs Crisparkle." But where were they now, in her hour of need?

He rocked to and fro until the kettle whistled and he poured the boiling water on to the few leaves he had managed to get into the pot.

He knocked on the bedroom door, but there was no reply.

"Rosa," he called.

Silence once more.

He took a breath and opened the door. She lay beneath the blankets, sobbing and shivering on the bed.

"Come to the fire," he said softly, dropping to his haunches by the pillow.

"I am afraid to," she said.

"Then you are very foolish. What are you afraid of?"

"You."

"I will not harm you. I will not touch you. Please come to the fire. I have made tea for you."

"You said you would not touch me before. I suppose you do not remember it? In the Nuns' House garden?"

"Oh. Yes." He looked away, uncomfortable. "I do remember it."

"You said you would not touch me but you still terrified me beyond anything I have experienced."

"It was not my intention to do so."

"Yet you did."

"Then accept my sincere apology, Rosa, and come to the fire."

"Go far away from me, and I may. No, further than that."

He went and stood by the door.

Rosa gathered the blanket around herself and stood up. She made a slow, shuffling progress out of the room, pausing to tell Jasper to get out of her way when she reached the door.

"You have only one chair?" She seated herself in the threadbare armchair and laid her head back in its comfortable recesses.

"I have sold the rest. I have only one cup also." He handed it to her.

She looked about the room, wrinkling her nose at its disarray.

"What are you come to? This place is like a chamber from a nightmare."

Jasper sneezed in reply.

"For all your fussing and fretting over me, you are still wearing wet clothes. You are taking cold."

"No, it is the withdrawal. It often makes me sneeze," he said unthinkingly.

"Withdrawal?"

"I shall change my clothes," he said, evading the matter at hand by slipping into the bedroom.

When he returned, in drier garments, Rosa was staring into the pitiful fire and the look in her eyes pierced him. He knew that look, had seen it in his mirror. Despair.

He came closer and leant on the chimney breast, looking down at her.

"You are a widow," he said.

Shaken from her reverie, she glared at him, then her face crumpled and she dissolved into tears.

"How brutal that word is," she wept. "It is not what I should be."

"But it is what you are."

She nodded and tried to wipe her eyes with the blanket.

"No, cry," said Jasper. "Cry all you like. It is all the same to me."

"You wished him dead, no doubt," she said, rubbing her face furiously now.

Jasper did not reply but he felt the justice of her accusation.

"I thought you would have known. The _Mighty_, lost in the Bay of Biscay with all hands."

"I had not heard. I no longer read the newspapers."

"And nobody here would have told you, for fear that you would appear at his funeral, ready to make another of your repulsive proposals."

His cheek muscles twitched in a stiff approximation of a smile. Rosa had not quite lost her spirit, it seemed.

"He is dead. And I am free." She parrotted the words he had spoken to her once before, viciously sardonic.

The look he gave her subdued her flare of anger. She shrank back into the chair and took refuge in the teacup.

He smiled genuinely then, finding that her little show of antagonism had unfrozen something within him, made his heart beat with its old urgency.

"I did what I said I would do," he explained to her baffled face. "I pursued you to the death. And then I delivered you from it."

"How could you think I would love a man who said such terrible things?" She paused and finished her tea. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what? Pursue you?"

"Deliver me."

"How could I not? How could I watch you die?"

"I wanted to. I still want to."

"I won't let you."

"You have no power to grant or withhold permission from me, Mr Jasper. You are nothing to me."

"But you are all I care for."

She put down the cup and curled herself into a foetal position beneath the blanket, burying her head between her knees.

"No," she keened, long and low.

"I have destroyed myself. But I will not see you go the same way. Rosa, when I went to the water, I had the same purpose as you. That particular appointment will not be kept tonight, though its time will come again. But I will not leave this world until I know that you are safe and hopeful of living the rest of your days out. You are twenty two, Rosa. Your life is not over because you have lost one person dear to you."

She looked up.

"You were going to…?"

"Yes. And I will return. But only when you are with friends and protectors who can care for you. Only then will I go back to the water."


	2. Chapter 2

The words hung in the air between them, seeming to echo about the near-empty room.

Rosa held his gaze for a few moments then got to her feet, wrapping the blanket tight around her. For a delirious moment, Jasper thought she was coming to him, recognising a kindred soul in torment and offering the simple comfort of human touch. He ached to reach out to her, to anticipate her sweet gift and return it in double measure.

But she passed by him and moved towards the window, where the storm was making its presence felt hard against the diamond panes.

"Have a care," he said. "There is broken glass underfoot."

She ignored his warning, but hit a piano key as she skirted the instrument.

"Oh, out of tune," she said. "You have not sold it, though."

"It would not fetch a good price. Many of the strings are broken."

She peered through the gloom, past the streaming window, out to the cathedral close.

"You cannot see the Nuns' House from here," she said.

"No."

"I always wondered. Always thought perhaps you could. I imagined you standing here, watching me, every minute, every hour, every day. You made my consciousness a prison."

Jasper picked up the poker and prodded the fire, a little more spiritedly than was necessary.

"What you said," she continued, "about losing one person dear to me. You are very wrong in assuming that that is the root of my despair. If only it were _one_ person."

Jasper took in a quick breath, realising his mistake. "I know that your mother―"

"Yes, my mother. She drowned when I was just a child. You cannot know how many nights I lay awake trying to imagine her dying moments, the water rushing over her. Did she think of me at the last? Did she try to defy the currents for my sake? Or did she give in to them, as I would have done?"

Jasper heard the crack in the her voice, saw the tremor of her shoulders and he hastened up behind her, but she struck out at him.

"Do not put your hands on me," she said, her voice contorted with savagery. She evaded his reach, but in her anxiety to be away from him she stepped on a fragment of glass.

He swooped forwards again as she inhaled sharply and tried to balance on one leg, examining her sole for damage.

She did not shake him off this time and he helped her back to the chair, kneeling before her and picking up her foot to locate the splinter. Her foot in his hand. It was small and cold and still wrinkled from the sea, but he held it as if it were the most precious treasure in the world. Treacherous, evil glass, to cut her like this.

He removed the splinter, then dabbed at the wound with his handkerchief until the pinprick of blood was gone. In the commission of this task, Rosa was not exactly a willing participant, twisting her ankle and trying to yank her foot away, but he was determined to keep his hold on it until he had achieved his aim.

"Don't expect me to thank you," she said. "You are the one who carpets his floors with broken bottles."

"I don't ask for thanks," he said, dropping her foot. He lowered his voice. "You meant to do as your mother did? But her death was accidental."

"Her death was accidental," Rosa repeated. "But she loved me, and then she died. As did my father. They say his heart was broken. And then, who is to say that poor Eddy's body does not lie out there in the estuary?"

Jasper looked away, clenching his fists momentarily.

"He never loved you," he said in a near-whisper.

"What?"

"If that is your theory – that all who love you die, as it seems to me that you are saying – then you can remove him from that list."

"What a strange and horrible thing to say, John Jasper. Why must you say such things? And about your own lost nephew?"

"Because I know them to be true. He had no deeper feeling for you than he did for his…his watch chain. He told me so many times that he felt constrained by his duty to marry you, that he envied me my freedom in that respect. A freedom which felt like the heaviest of yokes to me, though of course he was not to know that."

She levelled an antagonistic stare at him.

"So you say. You could be lying, blackening his name. It would be just like you. I know he cared for me, and then he died. And then my angel…"

She was unable to continue, hiding her face in her hands while she doubled over.

"Not everyone who loves you dies," said Jasper, still kneeling before her. "Some of us seem to cheat death despite putting ourselves deliberately in its way."

She looked up.

"You do not love me," she hissed. "Love and obsession are not the same thing."

"It does not matter whether I love you or not," he said. "I have nothing to offer you. Nothing to offer anyone."

"That's true enough, at any rate," she said. She looked down at a piece of brown glass she still held in her hand after her mishap. A fragment of label was stuck to it. "L. A. U.," she read out loud. "Laudanum? What is wrong with you, that you take laudanum?"

"It is not that anything is wrong with me," he said. "It is that nothing is right with me."

For a second, her expression softened. Was it compassion that flickered in her eyes? At any rate, it was not outright revulsion.

"Nothing has been right with me," he continued. "Since…" He broke off and moved to sit with his back to the chair leg so that she could not see his face or the shadow of despair that had come over it. "Ever," he amended.

Her ankle swung an inch or so away from him. He could reach out for it. She did not seem to fear that he would. He decided to take this tiny sign as evidence of an increased trust.

"I feel I must ask you this," she said after a laden silence. "For it has been in my mind ever since we last met, five years ago, and I have never been able to lay it to rest. Just as he has never been laid to rest."

"Ned?"

"Yes."

Jasper swallowed, knowing what was to come.

"Oh," she said, consternated. "Perhaps I should not. Perhaps it is unwise. I am alone here with you after all…"

"Good God, Rosa, you must know I would never do anything to hurt you. You must know that, at least."

"I know nothing when it comes to you. You could be capable of anything."

He put his face in his hands, pressing down on his eyelids with his fingertips until the outlined shapes on the backs of them disappeared into a black void.

"Very well, then." She spoke, more determined this time. "Do you know what happened to him? To Edwin?"

"No, I do not," he said in the lowest of voices.

"Truly?" she persisted. "For I felt sure that you had some knowledge of it. And…well, the realisation dawned quite slowly, for I never imagined myself to be of such value that I could provoke jealousy or, or…any passion of that sort. But you must see how it looked to me. After that day…in the garden…"

"You think I killed him?"

"I think you…wanted something he had. You thought he had."

"You."

"Yes."

Jasper had dreaded this conversation for five years, though if he was truthful with himself, he was somewhat surprised nobody had initiated it sooner. Perhaps it was simply that nobody had dared. And besides, there was such an utter lack of evidence against him, it would scarcely have been productive to do so.

But Rosa, with her direct approach and that little shake of dread in her voice had cut through any subterfuge he might have offered. He could not lie to her.

For a moment, it was as if the opium haze was upon him again, the fog of that night swirling thought his brain. What had happened? What? What had actually happened?

He turned his face to Rosa and answered her honestly.

"I don't know."

Her face crumpled in disgusted disbelief.

"How on earth can you not know whether you killed someone?"

"I don't know, Rosa, because…I was not in my right mind that night."

"Do you even have a right mind?"

"I mean, I was heavily under the influence of laudanum and strong wine, and my passions had the better of me and I think…I think I meant to do something. But I don't know to this day whether I actually did it."

"So you planned his murder?"

"I dreamt of it. I planned it, yes, as a kind of…outlet. A pressure valve for those devilish elements deep within me that I had to keep repressed at all times. I do not know whether I intended to do it…I do not know."

He felt he was not explaining himself very well and yet there seemed no other way.

"You make no sense."

"I mean, Rosa, that _he_ who plotted murders was not _me_. Or I was not him. Oh." He broke off and dashed his fist against his brow, his hand shaking as it crawled about his face. The effort of memory was too ghastly.

"I think you did it," said Rosa. "You must have done. You wanted to. You planned to. You took spirits and potions until your mind was clouded and you did it. You are a murderer."

He removed his hand from his face and gave her one steadfast piercing look, beneath which she quailed.

"But you can never prove it," he said. "And if you know it, then you know more than I do."

"You are lying. You know it. I have never heard such nonsense – a man _not knowing_ whether he has killed another."

"I was beyond reason that night," he said. "And I may never know if I left this place or not. I do know that Ned left it in the company of Neville Landless."

"Do not start your campaign against that poor innocent man again."

"I have no intention of doing so. He cannot be prosecuted with no body and I accept that now."

"Accept it, do you? Knowing that you could well have been the killer. Oh. You would have seen him hang."

"If he was guilty."

"This conversation is futile. You will not accept responsibility for your actions, I can see that."

"On the contrary, I intend to perform my own execution, as you know. Whether I am guilty or not. At any rate, I am guilty of _something_. Guilty of being John Jasper, which is crime enough in itself."

"You feel in your heart that you did it?"

"I feel in my heart that I may as well have done it. I bear all the guilt, regardless of what the facts may be. I hated him, it's true. I wanted what he had. I wanted to be rid of him, to have my path to you cleared."

"Poor Eddy."

"Poor Eddy." Jasper's echo was bitterly sarcastic.

"Yes, because he is dead!"

"Is he though? Shall we ever know?"

"Oh, this conversation is horribly circular. I feel I am skating round and round, lower and lower, into some hellish loop."

"Such is my life. But no matter, for it will soon be over."

"As will mine."

"No, Rosa, yours will not. I will take you to the Crisparkle house. They will not be pleased to see me, but they will shelter you."

"If you tell them about what I did, they may have me arrested. Suicide is a crime."

"They will not. Besides, they would not listen to anything I had to say."

"Oh, why not? You used to be such friends."

"That was before I broke into their house to steal the laudanum from Mrs Crisparkle's medicine chest."

"Oh. Oh dear."

"They could have had me arrested. I have that much to be thankful for, I suppose."

"They spared you that."

"Yes. But I have no post, no income, and tomorrow I will be evicted from this place. Nobody awaits me and there is nowhere for me to go except to the river."

"I feel as you do."

"Of course you do not." He turned his face to her, feeling a native savagery, an anger that she should presume to have plumbed the same depths as him. "There are still people who care for you, Rosa. There will always be people who care for you."

"Somebody must…for you?"

"Ned was the only soul who ever loved me. And I killed him. I may have killed him. I don't know. I think that makes me a better candidate for a watery grave than you. People who love you die accidental deaths. People who love me die violent ones, at my own hand. Lucky for you that you never felt anything for me, isn't it?"

She looked away, and the swiftness of the motion caught his curiosity. It was as if his words had awoken something that she didn't want him to see.

"You really do think you killed him?" she said haltingly.

He sighed.

"No. I don't think I did. But it's easier – more convenient – to assume so. It ties up the loose end. I don't want to leave any loose ends."

"Do you really feel that you have nothing to live for?"

"These last two years I have lived for opium. And now I cannot afford it, and besides, the pleasures it once bestowed for a few shillings cannot now be achieved without substantial outlay."

"Opium." He heard the distaste in her voice.

"It was kinder to me than any human soul, more generous, more beneficent by far. At least, it was at first. It lit up my night, showed me beauty and possibility in the midst of my desolation. But opium is false. In the end, it casts you out of heaven, and the darkness is blacker than before. And then you know you have come to the end of your days."

Rosa's foot moved, her smallest toe brushing the material of his shirtsleeve.

"It cannot be true that Edwin was the only person who ever loved you. It cannot."

"It is."

"Did you have no family? Edwin's mother?"

"There was no love between us, especially after she landed her army captain. I became an embarrassing burden to her. And I never knew my parents, my mother dead in giving birth to me, my father…whoever he might have been…oh, there is no use in speaking of it."

"But Edwin loved you."

"In his way, which was a stunted kind of…but I must not speak ill of him. For he is gone and cannot defend himself."

"If nobody ever loved you, if you never saw love, how could you know what it was?"

He turned to her again, his eyes burning.

"I did not know how to love. Did I, Rosa? You, of all people, have seen the proof of it."

"Yes." She stared back at him, half-abstracted, half in realisation. "Oh yes, I see now."

"I had only the templates of the poets and composers to show me what love was. The divine, the remote, the unachievable object of passion – that was you. I wonder if I chose you knowing in my heart that I could never have you – if it was one more way of making myself suffer, as I have made myself suffer all my life."

"I have often asked myself why you fixed upon me in the way that you did."

"Refinement of torture," he said, laying his head back so that it was closer than ever to her blanketed knee. "The hopeless passion of the artist. In my case, destructive rather than creative. But in my way, I loved you truly. Nobody ever loved you more."

"Oh, they did. My angel."

"Your angel." He chuckled mirthlessly and pulled up his shirtsleeve, revealing a curved white scar, still livid though it must have been years old. "Who did that to me, Rosebud?"

She peered at it then recoiled.

"It looks like a knife wound."

"It is a knife wound. Your jolly Jack Tar and some of his friends cornered me behind the cathedral one dark night shortly before your wedding and kicked me unconscious."

He didn't dare look at the effect on her face as he imparted this intelligence. Perhaps he should not say it. There was little use in dredging up recrimination. But her use of the epithet 'angel' had roused him to bitter ire that he could not seem to swallow down.

"He should not have done that," she said in a low voice. "But you hounded me beyond endurance. All those letters. And when you took to haunting the street beyond our court. I suppose he thought he had to do something."

"So he did something."

"He should not have done it," she repeated. "But you were ready to kill any man who set eyes on me, so I do not see that you occupy any moral high ground."

"No. You are right. And in the morning I shall put things to rights."

They sat in melancholy silence while the fire snapped and hissed around them.

"I do not want to go to the Crisparkles," she said, yawning. "I cannot bear their disappointment and kindly concern."

"I am familiar with the sentiment. Nonetheless, I shall take you there."

"I shall not allow it."

"It is not a question of whether or not you allow it. It is what will pass. Do not argue with me on this point."

She kicked at his upper arm, her toes making little impression, but he seized her ankle and held on to it, resisting her efforts to pull it away.

"Get your hands off me, you beast!"

"If you kick me, you must expect me to defend myself."

She abandoned her struggle and let her foot lie passively in his hand. He closed his fingers over the toes, still half-frozen despite the best effects of the meagre fire.

"If you did kill Edwin," she said, "how did you do it?"

"I strangled him."

"Where?"

"In the cathedral."

"In the cathedral? Never! Show me. Show me where it was."

"Don't be foolish. You have nothing to wear and the storm ―"

"There is a lull. Look at the window. It has stopped raining. And I can wear something of yours."

"You have taken leave of your senses."

"If this is to be our last night on Earth, Jasper, then let's do something with it."

Her words had a stirring effect on him. Still gripping her ankle, he shifted to look at her intently, his head to one side.

"You mean this?"

"Yes. Two souls in torment, revisiting the horrors of their pasts. It will nerve us both for the ordeal ahead."

"_You_ have no ordeal ahead," he said disapprovingly. "It is I who shall take my leave tomorrow. But if you will walk with me…then…"

He had the strangest urge to jump up and clap his hands, as if festivity had arrived in the bleakest of surrounds.

"I will walk with you, John Jasper. I cannot fear you now that I have no hope for my future. Solve the mystery that has plagued me these five years, and then I can be at peace."


	3. Chapter 3

It seemed incongruous, disrespectful to laugh, given the events leading up to this moment, but John Jasper found that he couldn't help himself.

She glared and tried to hitch the ill-fitting trousers up higher, but the braces slipped over her shoulder, threatening to reveal far more than modesty permitted.

"Here," said Jasper. "They're meant to go underneath the shirt, but no matter." Stepping up behind her, he tightened the braces by means of matching looped knots behind her shoulders. Now at least she didn't need to fear the sudden loss of her trousers. They were rolled up several times over at the ankle, where her unshod feet peeped from the expanse of fabric.

He was put in mind of the harlequinade clowns who sometimes performed in Cloisterham High Street on fair days. Her little wrists protruded from his shirtsleeves and her still-damp hair poured out of his old hat, which fell over her brow and almost covered her eyes.

"It is as well the weather is so foul. There should at least not be too many people walking abroad," he observed. "Or you would certainly attract some notice."

"I do not care who stares at me. Nothing matters any more."

"At least make some attempt to conceal your hair."

Rosa tugged listlessly at a curl but made no move to hide it until Jasper snatched the hat impatiently from her head and grasped a handful of hair, intending to pile it on her crown.

She yelped and writhed, but he stopped for a moment, mesmerised by the sight of the golden strands wrapped around his knuckles, the way he had sometimes seen them in his imaginings. The nape of her neck was unhidden now, so soft and bare. He could bend and kiss it. It would be so easy.

"You're pulling too hard." She broke into his reverie. "It hurts."

"I'm sorry." He tried not to breathe too hard, conscious that he mustn't alarm her. He piled up the tresses and clamped his old hat back down on them. A couple of strands escaped but now she could at least pass for a very ill-attired boy.

He stood back to look her up and down. She wrenched her face from his gaze, her nose in the air, the imperious, capricious Pussy of old.

He smiled.

"Do not stare at me so. I will not have it." Her eye slid back to him. "Oh, you are smiling that awful sinister smile of yours. Fetch me a coat. Stop looking at me."

He handed her his only coat, silently.

"It's a strange thing, but I don't fear you any more," she said. "Not now I've looked death in the face. I even feel a kind of pity for you. Is that not strange?"

"I suppose it is."

He opened the door, ushering her through to the postern stair.

"And besides," he continued, "as I've said, you have nothing to fear from me. I have no intention of proposing marriage now."

She looked up at him, and her smile made him catch a breath, though he tried not to show it. Their terrible history had created a bond between them after all.

"I am very glad to hear it," she said.

Out in the open air, a blustery wind blew. Unthinkingly, John Jasper offered Rosa his arm but she slapped it away.

"I am a boy, remember."

He put his hand over the stricken part of his forearm, trying to coax the mild sting to linger, the trace of her upon him.

The wildness of the night exhilarated him. There seemed to be undreamed of possibilities in the gusts and the brisk chill and the bend of the trees. It had been like this the night Edwin died, and now the echoes of that momentous time hung about them.

Had he been out in it? He tried to remember, but still saw just a vision of himself, as if he looked down from the skies on his own life, marching into the storm, head down, eyes fixed, scarf in hand. Was that a memory or was it a dream?

"Thank goodness for open air. I thought I might go mad, cooped up in that horrible room with you."

"You are already mad," said Jasper abruptly. "The madness of grief. I only hope the Crisparkles can take adequate care of you."

Again, a pang. _I shouldn't leave her._

"Stop talking as if my life or death is any of your concern," she cried, her reedy voice blending with the wind's wail. "You came to the cathedral on a night such as this?"

"If I did it."

"Why will you not own up to it?"

"I have told you why not. The night was very like this. You remember?"

"I remember. I was with Helena. She was terribly worried for Neville. Why did you invite him for supper?"

"I wanted to effect a reconciliation between him and Ned."

"That isn't true, is it? Helena says you never liked Neville, and neither did Edwin. This is a night for truth, John Jasper. If you can't tell it the night before your death, then you can't tell it ever."

"You are right. Reconciliation was not my motive. I wanted Ned and Neville to leave together, so that doubt would surround my nephew's last movements."

"In other words, you wanted to embroil poor Neville Landless in your horrible murder plot."

"He made it possible."

"How vile."

"Yes, it was vile. It was heartless. It was unprincipled. Yes."

"At least you admit it."

"I do. But Landless might still have killed him, you know."

"He didn't."

"Are you sure of that? Such a hot-blooded fellow, with a poor command of his passions."

"Unlike you, who hoarded them and nursed them and hid them under the surface until they erupted in murder and terror."

"I sometimes dream he has come back."

"Edwin?"

"Yes. And perhaps one day he will."

"Imagine if he did. Cloisterham would never recover from the shock."

"Neither would I."

"You'd be dead."

He sighed.

"Yes. I'd be dead."

They had arrived at the cathedral door.

From storm into silence they passed, as if entering another world. John Jasper wondered if this was a foretaste of his death. Impassioned anguish, stilled into peace. Oh, if it could be so. But not as cold as this, for it was deathly chill beneath the arches of ancient stone.

Rosa seemed subdued, scared even, as their footsteps echoed along the nave towards the altar stone. She left bare wet footprints on the flags.

"Why did he come here?" she muttered, looking about her at the darkened pillars and pews. "Why would he have come here after leaving your gatehouse?"

"He said something to Landless about showing him the most haunted place in Cloisterham."

"So you knew where to find him."

They halted before the altar.

"In my dream, it was here," muttered Jasper.

"You killed him in front of the altar?"

"In my dream."

"Such a spot to choose."

"You don't know why I chose it? Can you not guess?"

He knew he ought not to be frightening her, but being here again, in these particular circumstances, had thrown him into the old frame of mind. The obsessive rage seared through him once more, as if Ned were still alive and standing next to them, ready to take his bride.

She stared back at him, her eyes haunted.

"This is where we were to wed," she said, looking down at the spot, then at the altar, then back at Jasper. "Oh, you are mad. Quite mad."

She crouched down and felt the stones with her hands, as if searching for traces of Edwin's dead body there.

"He lay here, slain by the uncle he thought loved him. Oh, my poor Eddy."

Jasper watched her, stupidly, hideously jealous of the flagstones. He gripped the altar rail hard. He had given up his secrets to her and she hated him all the more for it. He would die hated by her.

She raised her head to him.

"And what happened then? Where did you take him? Where does he lie? I feel I must see him, even if it is only bones."

Jasper frowned. His memory always grew thin at this point, though he recalled the plan well enough.

"I stole the key to the Sapsea tomb. I meant to shut him in with the mayor's late wife. So I…"

He stepped forward, trying to picture himself dragging Edwin's inert form away from the altar towards the crypt door. He had no recollection of the physicality of the act, how it would have strained his muscles, nor yet how he got the corpse down the crumbling crypt steps.

"I think I must have brought him over here," he said, stepping backwards towards the small arched doorway.

Rosa followed him, trepidatious in the extreme.

"It will be so dark down there," she said. "Is there a lamp in the vestry? A candle?"

"Yes, go and fetch one, if you must."

Jasper watched her patter across to the vestry, emerging half a minute later with a lamp. She glowed like an angel, an angel in a ridiculous hat and ill-fitting men's clothes.

"So you brought him here," she whispered. "And then…"

"And then…"

He turned the metal ring of the crypt door and put his shoulder to it, recalling how stiff it was.

Not as stiff as this though.

He tried again, a firm push, then a kick.

"It's locked," he said blankly. "Durdles locks the crypt. I didn't think he locked it. I didn't realise…"

"You can't open it?"

"I don't have a key to the crypt. I had a key to the tomb… I didn't think…he ever locked it…but he does…of course, he does…"

He stared at Rosa as if willing her to make the connection for him.

"You didn't have a key?"

"No. To the tomb, I did. But not the crypt."

"So…what did you do with his body?"

Jasper shook his head.

"I can't have done it. I can't have. It wasn't me. I couldn't have taken him out of the cathedral…he would have been too heavy. Oh God."

He staggered over to the nearest pew and sank down into it, resting his head on the book rack. He shook like a man who had seen a ghost. He clutched at a Book of Common Prayer and held it to his chest, is if this might regulate his breathing.

Rosa did not move but stayed by the crypt door, holding on to the lamp. It swung in her hand, casting an uneven light around her.

"But it might have been unlocked that night," she said.

He lifted his head and looked up, way up at the vaulted ceiling and the gold bosses.

"I didn't kill him," he said, as if stating an absolute truth. "I didn't."

"Then what happened to him?"

"I don't know."

She put down the lamp and leant against the arched doorway.

"It could have been unlocked," she persisted stubbornly. "I do not see what else could have happened. It must have been you."

"You want to believe that it was me, Rosa. But it was just the dream, again, after all that laudanum. I did not come out that night."

"And that is what _you_ want to believe."

"Tomorrow, when you are safely in the care of the Crisparkles, you can come here and ask Durdles to show you the Sapsea tomb. You will know then. If you find his remains there, you can attribute his murder to me. But you will be doing it posthumously, of course, for I shall be dead."

"I will do it," she said.

He waved a hand at her, as if giving his permission.

"I cannot imagine," she said slowly, "wanting somebody so much that I would kill to have them. Whether or not you did it, you were capable of it. You will always know that you were capable of it."

"Do not fear, Rosa, I have no doubt that when my judgement comes, as it soon will, the Lord will be accordingly harsh with me. But perhaps you could leave that to Him."

She picked up the lamp and brought it over, sitting beside him in the pew.

"I wonder what He will have to say to me," she said.

"He will have nothing to reproach you with."

"You know that, do you? You have no idea what my life has been this past five years."

"A virtuous wife, a domestic angel." He noticed that she was twisting her fingers rather compulsively.

"I did not give _my_ angel the life I should have," she said quietly. "I was spoilt and selfish and I vented my petty irritations on him."

"Guilt and recrimination are the companions of grief, but you must not be too hard on yourself."

"He went back to sea to get away from me," she said, a tear falling from her eye. "He had no need to. But I made his life unhappy and then I…oh, I cannot tell you."

She stood up and turned her back to him, her shoulders shaking. He wanted to put out his hand, to bring her back down beside him, to hold her and comfort her, but he knew she would not have it.

"Rosa," he said gently. "We are none of us perfect."

She turned to him and laughed, high and hysterical. "At least I did not plot to kill him."

He smiled through his pain. "There is a point in your favour. I am sure the Lord will take it into account. But it will be many years before your time comes, and you will love again, somebody you can be happy with."

"I do not deserve happiness."

"Oh, Rosa, you sound like me."

"How odd it is." She sat down again. "I cannot imagine being able to speak to anyone else of my troubles. Yet in my hour of greatest darkness, it is you who is my confidant. I should never have believed it."

"If I have done some good in my last hours, then I shall at least die with that knowledge."

They sat side by side for a while, in silence. Jasper found that his private miseries were further away from his thoughts now, displaced by Rosa's revelations and the vast splendour that surrounded him.

Perhaps she had loved that fellow, Tartar, but all the same, he had not been the man for her. He should not find the idea cheering, yet he did.

And he was not a murderer. It seemed preposterous to him now that he had spent so many years thinking that he was.

"It's cold in here," said Rosa after a peaceful interlude of five minutes.

"I know it. I have spent half of my life in here."

He arose and walked up towards the quire. Rosa picked up her lamp and followed him.

"Every day," he said. "Three times a day - first as a choirboy, then as precentor – I sat in these stalls and performed my duty to the Lord and the cathedral authorities."

He stopped and ran his hand over the ornate woodwork.

"If ever I lost my sight, I could carve these from memory," he said. "Twenty five years I have spent here."

"That is longer than I have been alive," said Rosa.

He stood at his lectern and gripped the sides.

"I made such music," he said, his mind wandering to some of the most glorious triumphs of his choir. "Perhaps my ghost shall haunt this place. My voice."

"You have a wonderful voice," conceded Rosa.

"I lost it," he said, almost to himself. "How did I lose it? When it was so much a part of me. The best part of me."

"You lost your voice?"

"No, no, I mean…what do I mean? The music. The thing that made life worthwhile and even beautiful through those lonely, barren years. Why did I not hold on to it? How did it slip through my fingers?"

He felt an ache behind his eyes, the tension of suppressed tears. Oh no, he must not let that happen. He must not alarm Rosa.

"It could come back," she said.

Oh, her face. So sweetly encouraging. She looked concerned for him and it made him want to drop to his knees and thank whichever remote guardian angel had not yet abandoned him.

"You can still have your music. Perhaps you have lost your post here, but there are other places. And you can teach too."

He shook his head. "It is gone," he said stubbornly.

"I don't believe it. Sing something. For me."

Her determined pose, chin thrust out, eyes stormy, forced a few bars into his head. What was it? The Mozart Requiem, which he had conducted for a charity concert. He recalled how well it had been received, and the Mayor's words: "Cloisterham is so much the richer for having a man like you in it." Well, the Mayor was an idiot, of course, but it had been one of the few great moments of his life.

"Go on," Rosa urged.

He cleared his throat, looked up at the organ pipes. Oh, this was ridiculous. But Rosa had folded her arms across her chest and the thought of disappointing her was somehow insupportable.

He squared his shoulders, stood tall and essayed the bass line of the Rex Tremendae Majestatis. His voice burst from his lungs, sounding foreign and a little rusty but no less sonorous than it had ever been. As he sang, he waved a hand, conducting an invisible orchestra and choir. The power of it shocked him and he stopped suddenly, hearing his voice echo around him.

"Qui salvandos salvas gratis," he muttered to himself. "Salva me."

"You see, you are just as good as you ever were," said Rosa, clapping her hands. "What was that from?"

"Mozart's Requiem," he said. "Suitable to the occasion. Though there will be no requiems for me."

"But we will have music," she said, moving slowly towards him until she stood in front of the lectern. "We will have our requiem before we die."

"They are rather wasted on the dead," he said. He wanted to touch her, so much so that he felt quite sick with it. "But we have established that you will live on for a good many years, have we not?"

"No, we have established no such thing."

There was, however, a spark of life about Rosa now, a vivacity in her eye. He felt that the worst of her crisis was past, if she would but admit it to herself.

"If she wants music, music she shall have," he said, taking her by the elbow and striding with her towards the organ loft.

"Oh, I have always wanted to go up here," she said as they climbed the stone spiral into the cathedral heights.

He led her to the vast instrument and seated her beside him on the stool.

"It is so huge," she said. "All those keyboards. How can one person play them all?"

"Oh, the keyboards are the least of it," he said. "There is the pedalboard underneath here, you see. And then one must pull out the stops."

"It is so excessively complicated."

"Indeed. It is the most complex of all man-made machines. I am not an organist, but I can play a little. If you would like me to."

"Yes, I should like it very much. Play me one of those stormy Bach toccatas. Do you know any?"

"Oh, we choirboys all tried our hand at the D Minor toccata when we could sneak up here. It was strictly forbidden, but the lure of this thing is considerable. Now, let me see…"

He began to play, the music swelling out to fill the entire cathedral. Rosa watched his fingers with awe as they darted from keyboard to keyboard, or pushed a stop back in between notes.

Her concentration inspired him to give the best performance he could. He felt connected to the instrument, completely immersed in the music, in that old way he once had. It was him and he was it. Once more he had escaped his woes, the grind of daily life, the insults and offences, just as he had as a boy and then a young man.

Until he had met Rosa, of course. That had changed everything.

He stopped at the opening of the fugue and turned to her. She had taken it from him and now she had given it back. What gave her this power over him?

"How does it make such a tremendous sound?" she asked.

He fell into a lengthy explanation of the workings of the pipes, complete with musical illustrations while she hung on his every word, her lips slightly parted, nodding every so often.

They were teacher and pupil once more. Only this time everything between them was different.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

He realised, some six or seven minutes into his explanation, that real animation had crept into his voice. He was gesturing with his hands, and his face - so drearily accustomed to its mask of sombre indifference - had come to muscle-twitching life. He had been this way when he taught the choristers, once upon a time – almost falling over the words in his desire to communicate the wonderful truth about music.

It was her eyes upon him that had wrought this change, her undivided, breathless attention to his lecture. And now he wanted to go to the music shop and buy a pile of new scores; get his piano tuned; curate a concert of the best recent compositions.

How ridiculous. He was going to die tomorrow.

He stopped talking in mid-sentence and frowned down at his fingers, bony where they used to be slender, lying at rest on the second keyboard. What had he done to himself?

"Are you quite well?" Rosa put a hand on his forearm.

Her little, light touch brought a broiling broth of mixed emotions to the surface and he had to put his other hand to his face so that she might not see the tears. She could not, however, mistake the involuntary shudder of his shoulders.

_Quite well?_ She asked if he was _quite well_? The answer to that seemed bottomless, encompassing fury, agony, self-loathing and despair. And then there was relief at not being Edwin's murderer, and shock, and, and…oh God. _Love_. Stupid, hopeless, ridiculous love.

"Do not concern yourself," he said, whilst still clutching at his face. "Mere self-pity. That is all." He coughed and made a heroic effort to pull himself together.

Her face was pale, her blue eyes huge with worry. He looked down at her hand, which still lay upon his sleeve. As if embarrassed, she pulled it away.

"Why don't you…take a turn?" he suggested, his voice a little shaky, gesturing at the keyboard.

"Oh, no, I cannot. I haven't been near a piano keyboard since…" She bit her lip.

"You never played again?"

She shook her head.

"Piano music always called you to my mind," she said quietly. "I cannot hear one played without thinking about…those days."

"You hate me so much," he sighed. "When all I did was love you."

"Now you are truly feeling sorry for yourself," she said. "You know you did a great deal more than that."

"You have always had everything you wanted, Rosa. You have never wanted something – desperately wanted something, until you thought you might die without it – that you could never have. I wish you knew how it felt."

"I wish you did not."

He tipped his head back, breathing deep, following the vertiginous swoop of the stone arches above.

"So do I, Rosa."

There was a brief, awkward silence and then she spoke again.

"I am going to tell you something now, John Jasper, and you must not take my intention as anything other than the wish for you to know that…that…you were not always…oh, I don't know how to put it."

He turned swiftly to her, his heart pierced at something in her tone, something that seemed a cause for slight hope.

"Rosa?"

"You said earlier than Edwin was the only soul who ever loved you."

"It is so."

"You can't go to your grave thinking…" She broke off again, twisting her hands.

"Thinking what? Tell me."

"Do not misunderstand me if I say that…yes, I feared you and I avoided you but those fears and that avoidance…"

His gaze was fixed on her, on her troubled eyes and her heaving bosom beneath the over-large clothes. He wanted to seize her, shake the words from her by the shoulders, but he kept his breath held and his urges in check.

"I did not hate you as much as…I didn't really hate you at all. Until that day in the garden. I did then. But before that, when you taught me, I only feared you. And the fear was not a simple thing. It was made of many different ingredients, and one of those was…I have to admit…attraction."

He released his breath, feeling faint all of a sudden, and moved closer to her, but she held up a hand.

"Don't…I'm only telling you this because I don't want you to go to your grave thinking that nobody ever loved you. I want you to know that there was a time when I thought of you almost constantly. It was a terrible time, full of guilt and shame, because I was supposed to be thinking of Eddy and…I did not want to think of you. But somehow I could not stop myself. Something about you compelled me. It is what made you so terrifying to me. I lived in fear that one day I might forget myself. You might force my hand and I would be powerless to resist."

Jasper was silent, his heart too full to allow speech.

"I want to tell you, too, that my confusion over you was what made me end my engagement. And that, even after Eddy disappeared, I might have considered you, in time. But you didn't give me time. And your awful behaviour in the garden, and the threats you made against Neville Landless made me see that I had had a lucky escape from you."

He shut his eyes, shut out her face, almost deranged with the enormity of what she had told him.

His wits returned slowly, a cloud thinning in his mind.

"Is this true?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes. It means nothing now, but I loved you. The worst and least pleasurable kind of love – but love it was. And you will always know it now."

"I scarcely know what to say."

"Say nothing. My love is not worth much, anyway. My angel knows as much."

"Do not say so. Your love is worth…everything."

"He would not do as I wanted, so I made his life a daily hell. He had refused all offers of a commission on the _Mighty_ until I pushed him too far and he accepted at last. And I told him then – oh, it wasn't even true! – I told him that I had kissed his brother. He went to sea thinking I had played him false. I only said it to make him stay…but…oh, what a misguided, foolish, wicked girl I am. So you see, my love is quite worthless."

He saw the tears on her cheek and this time he thought she would not turn away his offer of comfort. He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close. As he had hoped, she did not put up any resistance at all but fell instead, her damp face on his shirt front, into his protective embrace.

"My unlucky Rosebud," he whispered as she wept. "You blame yourself for his death."

She nodded, her nose pressing against his chest, just where his heart beat.

"But you did not kill him, my love."

She looked up, about to answer, her woebegone face making him want to cup it in his hands and kiss away the tears, but a clanking from the west entrance caused them to freeze in their positions and hold their combined breaths.

"Who's there?" A querulous voice in the dark was followed by heavy footsteps in the nave.

"Tope," whispered Jasper. "Don't fret." He looked over at Rosa's lamp, wondering if he could pick it up and extinguish the low candle soundlessly.

"Come on, let's have you," called the verger. "Someone reported hearing organ music. Are you in the loft?"

"Deuce take him," muttered Jasper between gritted teeth. "Keep still, don't make a sound. I'll send him away."

He stood and leant over the loft balcony.

"Don't excite yourself, Tope, it is only me, John Jasper."

"Mr Jasper?" He raised his own lamp and squinted upwards. "You don't work here no more."

"I know that. I have come to pay my respects to the building that has fed and clothed me on the night before I leave it forever. Would you condemn a man for that?"

"Well, it's irregular. I don't know as the Dean would see it right."

"I am simply playing the organ. I shall leave directly. You have no need to be here on such a night – go home, do."

Tope hesitated, a shifty, uncomfortable look coming over his face.

"I don't like to mention it, Mr Jasper, but I'm afraid I can't leave you in here, knowing as I do the rumours that have been abroad regarding…well, suffice to say that the cathedral has many treasures…"

Jasper sighed.

"I understand. Very well. I shall leave."

He turned back to Rosa who stared up at him with whey-faced dismay.

"I mustn't be seen," she hissed.

"You will be all right. Come down with me and wait in the quire until he and I have left. Then you can meet me in the Close."

"I don't want to be alone in here."

"Then you will have to come with me. Pull your hat low on your head. He won't recognise you."

"I can't!"

But already he was pulling her down the loft stairs after him, taking care with the footing so that she did not stumble.

Tope stood at the bottom, lantern held high.

"Who's the young gentleman?" he asked in confusion.

"Nobody, just a friend. An admirer of our fine organ. Good evening, Tope."

"Wait, wait, wait. Turn out your pockets, Jasper."

Exasperated at the indignity and sensing Rosa's skittish dread, he enjoined her to leave the cathedral and wait for him on the steps.

"I know that when a man is brought low there are many crowding around to put their boot into him. I did not think you such a person, Tope. But then, I know very little, it seems."

Jasper showed Tope that his trouser pockets contained no more than the gatehouse key and a pair of farthings. In his waistcoat, a ragged handkerchief, his fob watch having been long sold.

"Begging your pardon, Jasper," muttered Tope. "I had my duty to the cathedral to think of. Better go and find your…friend."

Striding swiftly down the nave, Jasper realised ruefully that a fresh and quite unfounded rumour would probably now be added to the total that hung about his name. It was of no import what gossip Cloisterham tongues spread, though. He would not be there to suffer it.

He pushed his way out to the steps and looked around for Rosa.

There was no sign of her.

"Rosa!" He hastened down and peered around the sides of the cathedral, but no dark figure revealed itself. He shouted again, over the howl of the wind. "Rosa!"

He ran over the green, looking out for her. At the foot of the path that led to the gatehouse, he thought he saw her, a little way ahead – a small, shambling figure with an improbable hat.

He took to his heels again, calling to her, his suspicions confirmed when she began to run away. She would never outpace him, he knew, yet all the same his heart hammered and his throat was tight with fear. He knew where she was heading. He would get to her long before she made it to the marshes, but nonetheless, her desolate intent both harrowed and enraged him.

She _would not_ do this. He would see that she lived to a ripe old age if it meant locking her up and sitting outside her room with a key for the next sixty years.

He gained on her rapidly, not surprising given her bare feet and baggy, constricting clothes. Her hat blew off her head and bowled past him at speed. It was a dreadful old relic anyway, thought Jasper, looking up to see her blonde curls streaming out behind her.

"Rosa, stop!" he cried, once she was within earshot.

"I cannot stop. I must go," she gasped, but the gap between them narrowed rapidly now and she must have known that she stood no chance for she pulled up short and dropped to a crouch, burying her head between her knees while Jasper drew level.

"Why are you running from me?" he demanded, panting, putting a hand on her neck.

She released a sob. "I have always been running from you," she said. "Always."

"No longer," he said firmly, raising her to her feet with a hand beneath her elbow. "Come on. You should rest. Get some sleep. You are overwrought."

She staggered brokenly into a standing position and leant against him, as if too exhausted to move forward, but he marched her on the short distance to the gatehouse lodge.

Up the stairs and into the living room he walked her, then through to the bedroom.

"Try to take a few hours, at least," he said, helping her on to the bed in the dark.

He returned to the main room and sat on the edge of the armchair, leaning forward, hands clasped to his forehead, prepared to stand guard for the rest of the night while the last tatters of his living thoughts wound through his brain.

He had not expected to be alive this night, still less to be sharing his living quarters with that most precious of his fellow creatures. Did it have a meaning? Should he be questioning the forces of the universe, or the God he had supposed to have abandoned him in disgust?

The bedroom door creaked and he looked over his shoulder to see Rosa standing in the doorway.

"I do not want to be alone," she said haltingly.

"You must sleep."

"Will you…would you…if you came to lie beside me…I might sleep."

No, he was dead after all, and this was paradise.

A rum kind of paradise, overflowing with trash and broken furniture, but…what else could it be?

"You are sure?"

She nodded and stepped back into the darkness.

He almost strained a thigh muscle springing up from the chair and put a hand to it, wincing.

When he entered the bedroom, she was lying down again. He took off his boots and found the space beside her, sitting down on the side of the bed and looking down at her shadowy face.

"Don't take off your clothes," she said, a little panic-stricken.

He shook his head.

"Just lie beside me. I need to know there is a human presence with me. And so do you. You need that so much more than I do."

He lay flat on his back, his shoulder against hers. Perhaps she merely wanted to know when he was asleep, so she could creep back out and make her escape. But she could forget that plot, for he had locked the postern stair door and hidden the key.

Whatever her motive might be, there was no need to question it too deeply. He wanted nothing to tarnish this last, best night of his life.

He heard her yawn, felt her move against him, turning to the wall. He let his arm drop over the side of the bed and listened to her breathe. She held herself rigid, perhaps afraid that he might make some kind of unwanted advance, but he tried to keep that thought from his mind and focus instead on the blissful warmth and softness of her at his side. Her spine, the back of her neck, the hollows of her knees, the pale thighs and…no. No, Jasper, no.

Her breathing deepened and she snuffled a little. She was asleep.

He turned towards her and propped himself on an elbow, gazing down at her. There was no way he was going to waste a second of this night on such an unnecessary thing as sleep. Time enough for sleep when he was under the sea. For now, he would venerate and luxuriate in every second of her nearness.

Once he was sure she was deep inside her dreams, he ventured to touch her hair, stroking it lightly and slowly. He wanted to sing her a lullaby. He whispered a few opening words but found he could not continue.

A tear fell on to her curls. _What foolishness is this, Jasper? Has she not had enough salt water on her this day? It was you who saved her from it._

He passed a hand across his eyes, but all he could think of was what she had said to him in the cathedral. That she could have been his. If only he'd given her time. If only he'd considered her feelings. If only he hadn't been mad with opium and obsession… He could have lain beside her like this every night of his life.

The idiot tears fell faster. He wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve, then Rosa stirred and, by the time he had dried his face, she was awake and looking up at him.

"Oh, you are crying," she said, in a tone of dismayed wonder. "Oh dear."

"I am not."

"Hush. Come to me."

She put out her arms, clasped her fingers around his neck and pulled him close, laying his head upon her chest. He wept helplessly for some minutes more, his heart so full of a confusion of happiness and despair that he could hardly think, let alone regulate his emotions.

"We motherless children must take care of each other," she whispered.

Lord, if she continued with this mawkishness, he would drown her anyway, in his tears, and all his lifesaving efforts would have been in vain. Somehow he mastered himself and drew deep breaths, listening to her heartbeat beneath his old shirt.

"Do not worry about me," he said, his voice still cracked.

"Somebody should have done," she said. "A long time ago."

They lay there, in each others arms, Rosa drifting in and out of sleep, Jasper clinging to consciousness, until light trickled through the broken shutter and draped them in a layer of grey gloom.

Jasper hated and cursed the rising sun. Why must the day come and take Rosa from his arms, take her matted curls and her salty sea smell and her sleeping peacefulness away from him.

But he must remember to be thankful for having had this, at least – this tiny glimpse of happiness, right at the last. If he had gone last night, it would never have been.

He shut his eyes and he must have been overtaken by slumber, for the next thing he knew there was a hammering at the door.

Rosa started out of her sleep at the same time he did, sitting bolt upright.

"Who is being murdered?" she cried, looking wildly about her.

"Nobody," said Jasper grimly. "It is the bailiff. I am to be evicted."


	5. Chapter 5

"Get dressed – I will speak to them."

He picked up her clothes from where they had been drying in front of the fire. They were stiff and stained with whitish salt patches, but it couldn't be helped. Rosa could not continue her masquerade in his old clothes in broad daylight.

He threw them on to the bed and picked his way across the junk-strewn floor to the casement. He opened it and shouted down to the burly man who stood below. The storm, he saw, had blown itself out, and the path was thick with broken branches.

"Attend me for five minutes," he called. "I am not yet dressed."

Two other mountains of men slouched from beneath the arch and looked up at him.

"You're not going to make difficulties for us, are you, Mr Jasper?" said their leader. "Our instructions come from the church, which is to say that they come from on high, only a little removed. And I'm a pious man."

"I shall come down directly."

He shut the window with a bang, having no interest in the blusterings of bailiffs. He could be as pious as Saint Jerome for all he cared.

He looked about the dismal room, trying to take his mind from the thought of Rosa, undressing, yards away. How could he put that image from his mind? Perhaps an inventory of the goods he would leave behind.

Coal scuttle, poker, bellows, wing chair…her slender waist, her narrow hips… He took his coat from the peg and put it on, thinking of Rosa wearing it the night before. Her arms in the sleeves, the way she hugged its excess material over her breasts… He had to sit down and put his head between his knees.

God, he was hungry. That was why he was so faint. He had eaten nothing in forty eight hours.

He stood and rummaged in the little pantry to the side of the main room, but nothing there was fresh or immediately edible.

He heard fragments of huffing and tutting from the bedroom. Something was amiss with Rosa, by appearances. She opened the door and her head peered around it.

"I have no buttonhook," she said. "Do you have such a thing?"

"Alas, I have sold the only one I did possess."

"How provoking," she said with gritted teeth. "Why must you be an opium addict?"

"I am not. At least, not any more."

"Look, I cannot reach behind me to button this dress. You will have to do it."

She opened the door a little wider and presented him with her back. He stood transfixed, for a moment, by her linen camisole and the little rectangular patch of her back and shoulder blades atop it.

Another hefty knocking at the door galvanised him and he set to work on the buttons, regretting every half-inch of warm, bare Rosebud skin that left his line of sight as he worked. At the top, he held the final button pinched between finger and thumb, swaying slightly on his heels, irresistibly drawn to the nape of her neck.

He could feel that old surge that used to plague him all the time. The endless imaginings of their wedding night, all the different permutations and positions and…

She wrenched herself out of his grasp, turned and snapped her fingers in his face.

"Wake up, Jasper," she said. She was blushing. She knew his mind.

Instantly, he felt sheepish and guilty and he took her arm and headed for the door.

"You are taking nothing?" she asked.

"I don't need anything where I'm going," he said.

"They will wonder about me," she said fearfully. "There will be gossip."

"They are bailiffs. They have no knowledge of me personally. They will presume you to be my wife."

"Then that is even more shaming, for they will think me the worst housekeeper in the world."

At the foot of the stair they opened the door to the three bailiffs, all of whom turned their gaze immediately from Jasper to Rosa and then towards each other.

"Gentlemen," muttered Jasper, tipping his hat and passing through them.

"Ain't you taking nothing?" one of them called after him, but he ignored the question, bearing Rosa swiftly down the path towards the cathedral close.

"How different everything seems with the sun out," said Rosa, looking about her. "It is as if last night…"

"You have awoken in a more optimistic frame of mind?" The sun bleached the back of Jasper's eyes and lent his headache, more or less permanent now, an extra cruel force.

"I will not go to the Crisparkles'," she said determinedly.

"Then where?"

They halted. A faintness came over Jasper again and he put out his hand to touch the wall.

"Are you well?" She clutched his arm tighter.

"I think…we ought to eat."

"Do you have money?"

"No."

"Then we'll have to wait. I want to go to the stonemason."

"Durdles?"

"If that's his name."

"He will still be sleeping off last night's…nourishment…at this hour."

"Then we must wake him. Come. Where does he live?"

"Oh…some hovel…near here, I think."

Despite his lightheadedness, he managed to stay upright for long enough to locate the tiny low-set shack behind the high street that Durdles called home.

Rosa banged on the door with a small, purposeful fist. Jasper was prepared for nobody to answer, but they were admitted almost immediately. Not by Durdles, though – by a teenaged boy in raggedy…oh. That boy.

He bared his teeth at Jasper.

"The lady can come in but you ain't welcome," he said.

"Is Mr Durdles at home?" he asked, as politely as he could muster.

"Not to you, mister."

"We need to speak with him urgently," said Rosa with sweet persuasion. "I would be so grateful if you could rouse him."

The boy puffed out his scrawny chest. He must be all of about fourteen, but he clearly had an eye for the ladies, thought Jasper, tempted to slap the lechery out of the boy's dirty face. But he owed the lad an apology, not another beating, so he forebore.

"Whatever business you've got with Durdles you can have with me," he said. "Teaching me the trade, he is. I'm a dab hand with a chisel now."

"Do you have the keys to the cathedral crypt?" asked Rosa eagerly.

"I can get 'em."

"The Sapsea tomb? It was Sapsea, wasn't it?" She turned to Jasper, who shrugged.

"What you want to go down there for?"

"Do you have them?" cut in Jasper impatiently. "Or must we go and drag Durdles from his bed?"

"You can get knotted an' all, yer lunatic," said the boy spiritedly, but he had found Durdle's coat on its peg and was relieving it of a bunch of keys. "Since it's to oblige a lady, I'll take you there."

"You are very kind," said Rosa with a winning smile.

They exited the cottage, the boy giving Jasper the widest of berths, and set a path for the cathedral.

"We thought to look last night, but I gather Durdles locks the crypt when he leaves," said Jasper.

The boy said nothing but strode on ahead.

Jasper cleared his throat and spoke again. "Boy – whatever your name is – I should like to offer my apologies for some…matters past."

Rosa looked at him curiously and the boy's shoulders stiffened.

"What, near chokin' me to death, you mean?"

"I did not intend to…go so far. At the time, I was not master of myself."

"Off your nut on opium, you mean," sniffed the boy. "Everyone knows about you now. Nobody was gladder than me when you got the chop."

Jasper clenched his fists in his coat pockets, aware of the need to remain tranquil. He wanted to leave this place with a clear account, and clobbering a child across the head would not achieve this aim.

"That is hardly to be wondered at," he said, as calmly as he could. "Once again, I offer a full and unconditional apology for the way I treated you that night."

"Five years too late, mate. Why now?"

"I am putting my affairs in order," he said.

Rosa put her hand to his upper arm and pinched it, just a tiny nip, but it made him look into her face and see the trouble and worry there. It touched him so deeply that he felt faint once more and had to stop for a moment and take a breath.

The boy also stopped and looked Jasper full in the face for the first time.

"You ill?" he asked gruffly.

Jasper nodded. "Yes." It didn't seem so far from the truth.

Now they were at the cathedral. The early morning service was in progress, Reverend Crisparkle in the pulpit, so they sidled as unobtrusively as they could along a side aisle and tiptoed down the crypt stairs.

"Which is the Sapsea tomb?" whispered Rosa.

Jasper hung back, a film of horror coming over his eyes.

"I do not think I can…" he said, putting a hand over his mouth to curb the violent nausea brought on by the familiar miasma of dampness and dust.

"You can't look?" asked Rosa.

He shook his head and leant back against the wall, to keep himself upright.

"Then I will." She took his hand and gave it a sudden squeeze. "I am praying, Jasper – you cannot know how hard I am praying – that we will find nothing."

He tried to smile at her but only meaningless facial twitching resulted from his efforts.

The boy was at the tomb, key in lock.

"Come on then. You wanted to look, didn't yer?"

Rosa joined him, standing back, her fingers pressed to her cheekbones as the iron door creaked and clanked open.

"I don't know why a fine young lady such as yourself would want to be lookin' in tombs, but I can offer you one of the finest. Step right inside, Miss."

Jasper shut his eyes, waiting for the cries, the sobs, the mourning over Drood's bones. But nothing of that sort reached his ears, nothing but Rosa's pattering footsteps on the cold stone and then her voice.

"John Jasper, are you awake? Nobody is there. There is no body."

He opened his eyes, slowly, as if upon a new world.

"You are sure? You looked behind the tomb?"

"Yes, we both looked all over. Nothing is in that vault but buried Sapseas."

Jasper broke into a fit of coughing that disguised a deep-seated sob of relief. A few feet away from them, the boy shook his head, baffled.

"Oh, you are not well," said Rosa. "You must come away from this terrible air." She turned to the boy.

"I do not know your name."

"It's Deputy, Miss."

"Deputy, I wish very much that I could reward you for your kind assistance, but I am afraid I find myself in straitened circumstances today. All the same, if you could find us a little morsel of something to eat –just some bread or a piece of cheese – I will send you remuneration as soon as I am in funds again, with an additional element for the commission of your task."

He smiled from ear to ear.

"Very happy to oblige, Miss. I'll bring you something directly."

"Thank you so very much, Deputy. We will await you in the church yard."

Rosa and Jasper barely had time to settle themselve on a bench overlooking the graves of Cloisterham before Deputy raced back, a paper-wrapped package in hand, which he thrust under Rosa's nose.

"Here you are, Miss, the freshest bread and the finest cheese in town. I'll have some explaining to do to Durdles, mind, when he asks where his lunch has got to."

"I will compensate you, I promise," said Rosa.

"I know you will, cos you're a lady."

"Thank you." She smiled gently and Deputy's own face took on a most unpleasantly sentimental cast – to Jasper's mind at least.

"Always welcome," he said. "You want to steer clear of 'im, though, darlin'. He's a wrong 'un."

Before Jasper could decide what aspect of the speech infuriated him the most – the over-familiar epithet or the slur on his character – Deputy had tipped Rosa a devilish wink and taken to his heels through the lichened gravestones.

Rosa laughed at his expression of outrage.

"Oh, leave him be," she said. "I don't know what you did to upset him so, but you must simply reap what you have sown."

She unwrapped the package and offered it to him. He waved a hand, ravenous as he was.

"Take what you want first," he said.

"We will divide it in half," she determined, but her impression of what constituted a half seemed very inaccurate to Jasper's eye, for she gave him at least three quarters. "Your need is greater," she said, when he looked askance at her. "Oh, for heaven's sake, just eat it."

He had lost the habit of eating since everything had started tasting of ashes or cotton wool, but this food was different. The cheese had flavour and the bread was just as it used to be, years ago, before the opium had laid waste to him.

The sandwich was gone in a matter of seconds, bringing new life to him, even going some way towards alleviating his headache.

Rosa, still nibbling at her portion, smiled at him.

"You could have eaten ten of those," she said.

He looked around at the gravestones, trying to straighten his mind enough to think. His own grave would be unmarked, unconsecrated. He would not have one of these fine upstanding mementoes of a fine upstanding life.

But what about Rosa?

"You seem in better spirits today," he ventured.

"What a difference a few hours can make," she said. "I do believe you have saved me."

"I?"

"Yes, you. You have given me an understanding of what a gift life is. How lucky I have been. I have had love and friendship and comfort and…everything one could wish for…in my life. What a sin it would be in me to toss that aside, when I am so blessed."

He nodded, leadenly aware that the barrenness of his own life had provided this sense of contrast to her.

"I will always bear some guilt," she continued, "for what happened to my husband. That much is inevitable. But I see now that it is not insurmountable. I hope he is in a better place, and I hope he can forgive me from it."

"As you must forgive yourself."

"As I hope I might, in time."

He wanted to take her hand, make some gesture that would convey how deeply he appreciated her words, but she held the remains of her sandwich to her lips like a defensive weapon.

"And you, Jasper?" she said. "Will you forgive yourself?"

"It is not my place," he said. "My crimes cannot be brushed aside so easily."

"Your crimes? You speak as if you still condemn yourself for Edwin's murder, when you know you did not kill him."

"Whatever happened to him, I will always feel the burden of it."

"You were good to him."

"I wanted to kill him."

"But you didn't."

"You speak as if there is hope for me, Rosa."

"But there is. Every sinner can find redemption."

"Not this sinner."

"Oh, Jasper, do not speak so. I have decided to let you save my life, and now you must let me save yours. It is only fair exchange."

He shook his head at her, warmed by her spirit and determination, but conditioned to resist all words of kindness.

"You speak of wanting to live again, but I need some proof that you are in earnest, for when we part you may slip back down to the sea again." He raised an eyebrow at her, awaiting her defence.

"I promise you I shall not. And I can offer the proof you seek, too."

"Well then?"

Finishing the last morsel of bread, she shuffled up the bench, closer to him, and fixed him with a look so dense with meaning he could barely read its diverse elements. He held his breath and waited for her to speak.

"I mean to go back to London," she said, and she paused.

"There is a river in London."

"I know, and I would not for one second consider making my end in it, with the rats and the foulness." She shuddered. "Not for the world."

"I am glad to hear it."

He noticed that something was disturbing the air between them, making their voices lower, bending time out of joint. Her lips were close enough to kiss. Perhaps that was it. Or was it something else?

"I shall go back to the house my husband bequeathed me," she said. "It is a fine house, in a good part of the town, and I shall live comfortably there, for he provided well for me in his will. Poor man."

Her lip trembled. Unthinking, Jasper put his hand to her cheek, ready to catch any tears. She did not remove it, but neither did she cry.

"I shall devote my energies to living the best life I can," she continued. "In London, there is so much misery. So much poverty. So much distress and illness and… I shall go my modest way to try to help those in desperate need. Is that not a good idea?"

"Beautiful," he breathed, but he scarcely knew what he was saying now. Her closeness, the intimacy of their position, drove all sense from his mind.

"Jasper, will you listen to me?"

"I am listening." But he had to shake himself out of his trance in order for his words to be strictly truthful.

"The house is large and I do not think I should live there alone. If I live there alone, I will fall prey to despair and dark thoughts again. I shall have company. I shall take a lodger."

Jasper blinked and tried to focus his eyes on her.

"A lodger?"

"Yes, and as I am a woman, all alone in the world, I feel that that lodger should be a gentleman. He should practise a profession that will pay his way in the world, although initially I am happy to provide the room free of charge - until he has established himself in business. There is a good piano in the house, so perhaps he could give music lessons. There is a great clamour for music lessons in the good families of London. One can obtain as many pupils as one likes."

She came to the end of her proposition and gasped for breath, holding his eyes unblinkingly.

Speechless, he pressed his fingers to her cheek all the more, as if testing her corporeality.

"Do you mean…?"

"Oh, say yes, do." She caught hold of his forearm and held it tight.

"You want me to live with you?"

"Yes. But as friends, John Jasper, nothing more. Neither of us is equipped for anything more, just yet."

The unspoken implication of 'just yet' lay between them, almost tangible.

"You…would give me this chance?"

"Yes. It is no more than what you have done for me. But you must take it, Jasper, and you must use it. A new beginning. A rebirth, free of everything that has ground you down here."

"I do not deserve it."

"Do not dare say so. I know that you do."

"You…" He started to speak, but his voice veered out of control and he could feel the tears building again, although he thought to have shed every drop earlier. "You don't mean it."

"I do mean it. I mean to help my fellow creatures in their hour of greatest need. What better place to start than with the man who did the same thing for me?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Say yes."

"Yes."

The word fled from his heart and reverberated around his head, something caged set free.

She smiled.

"Then let us go."

She stood, her stiff skirts crackling around her.

"To London," she said.

"We neither of us have the fare," Jasper reminded her, following her to his feet.

"Oh. No, we don't. But we have strong enough wills, don't we? We will find a way."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: In a sense, the story I originally envisaged ends with the previous chapter. They've gone up and down their arc and redemption is now possible. So it's all over, yes? No. I want to stay with them and spy on them and see what happens. So if you're happy to indulge me in this, you are more than welcome to read on! Also, why the hell is this fic M rated? Nobody's boffed yet. I need to do something about this.**

There came a point when the low voices and bright lights and queer fuzz in his head stopped merging all together in a symphony of fever and separated once more into their component parts.

The sea he had tossed on calmed and the visions cleared away and something like reason returned to him. Was it reason?

He lay on a bed, a comfortable one, and he no longer ached in every limb.

Footsteps, light and quiet, caused a floorboard to creak somewhere near the corner of the room. He opened one eye. The room was papered in an unending pattern of blue and grey. If he looked too long at it, it seemed to move and dance, ferocious teeth appearing amid the grandiose swirls.

Over on the corner table, where the woman of the footsteps bent, folding linens, stood a water jug and a cup. These were the objects of his profoundest desire.

He tried to raise his head, fighting the swooping sensation that accompanied the movement.

"Excuse me." It came out as a whisper, but it was enough to attract the woman's attention.

"Oh, you are awake," she said.

Before he could ask for the water, she had flitted to the door and opened it.

"Ma'am," she shouted, along the passageway, or perhaps down the stairs. "Come quick, ma'am, he's woke up."

She looked back at him, nervously, and he perceived that she was very young, perhaps no more than fifteen years old.

"Please," he said hoarsely, trying to prop himself on an elbow and finding that it promptly collapsed beneath him. "Some water."

She nodded and poured him a cup.

Somewhere in the house, a door banged and footsteps hurried up some stairs. He knew whose footsteps. The knowledge lent him a burst of strength, and he was able to lift himself to a sitting position, though the effort beaded his brow with sweat.

"Are you sure, May?"

A face appeared around the door, haloed with golden hair. Rosa stepped into the room and his thirst was forgotten in an instant.

Death? Afterlife? Heaven? What was this place?

The girl, May, handed him the cup, but his hand shook and he could not take it.

"Here, let me," said Rosa. She came to sit in the bedside chair and put the cup to his lips. He drank, deeply, and let his head fall back into the pillow.

"Rosa," he said.

"You are better," she said. She smiled, but there was a peculiar look about her, a mistiness of the eyes, and she appeared to be swallowing something back. "The doctor said you were past the worst and needed only to sleep, but I am afraid I did not believe him."

"I have been ill?"

"Very ill. You don't remember anything?"

"I remember…a churchyard." He frowned. "Some arrangement about a piano."

"You agreed to lodge with me. You have forgotten the rainstorm? And the rhubarb cart?"

"A rainstorm and a rhubarb cart? This is a riddle indeed. No. I think I do recall…"

She turned to May. "Brew up some beef tea, May. And bring us calfs foot jelly."

Jasper frowned.

"I am not fond of calfs foot jelly," he said.

Rosa huffed. "Just the tea, then."

May scurried off, grateful for the exeat.

Rosa turned back to her patient.

"A kindly market gardener offered to take us to London on his cart. He was going to sell some rhubarb. I think you were already a little feverish when we started off, but just past Gravesend the heavens opened and we were drenched and you took very badly. The market gardener was very kind and delivered us all the way to the door. The doctor thought you would not survive. You were so malnourished and weak." She looked away briefly, towards the shuttered window. "You almost succeeded in killing yourself after all. But you shall neglect yourself no longer, John Jasper, for I have no desire to be a nurse any more."

Jasper cursed his state of impaired consciousness for allowing him no memory of being nursed by Rosa Bud. Surely these must have been the sweetest days of his life, and yet he could never access their delights.

"You do not feel that you missed your vocation?" he asked with the ghost of a smile.

"Indeed, no. Sickbeds are the most tedious places on Earth. But I need spend no more time watching you rave and moan, for you will be well and I can return to my true path."

"Your true path?"

"Why, yes. I have founded a society for the assistance of widows and orphans of those lost to the seas. Each morning, I teach a little class of orphaned girls. And I want to organise some charitable events to raise more funds for their poor mothers. I rather think you can help me in this."

"I? How so?"

May reappeared with a tray containing a dish of beef tea for Jasper and a cup of the milky variety for Rosa.

"Thank you, May." Rosa took her cup and set the tray on Jasper's knees. "You may go. She's a dear girl," she continued, once May had left. "The eldest of eight, you know. Her father perished in a fall from the rigging."

"How unfortunate. But you said I could help you?"

"When you are well, which will be soon, you can put together a concert."

"A charity concert?"

"Yes. I am relying on you to acquaint yourself with all the musicians in the area, then you can draw them into my web."

She smiled, her blue eyes gleaming with purpose.

He sipped at the beef tea, regarding her over his cup, marvelling at the transformation of the bedraggled little creature he had pulled from the water.

"You are an angel," he said.

"Yes, and here I sit, supping with the devil."

"You have forgotten your long spoon," he said.

They sat smiling at each other, Jasper feeling drunk on her mere presence, until she broke their eye contact and jabbed a finger at his dish.

"Drink it," she said. "You must eat eight meals a day until you are strong. I do not have time to tend to invalids. Three weeks you have been lost to us."

"Three weeks. Three weeks since that strange day and night."

"How long ago that seems now," she said, biting her lip.

"To me, it is yesterday."

"Yesterday is not important any more. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the next month, are important. Now, I must go for, dear as my little girls are, they do love to play with the china and it will all be quite broken. Drink your beef tea."

She leant towards him for a moment, as if she meant to kiss him but then thought better of it and swept swiftly from the room.

For a week after that, he was assailed at all hours of the day, and sometimes at night, with broths and milk puddings and jellies, graduating to cold chicken and bread and butter and fruit pies until eventually he was able to handle the spoon without shaking and dropping it into the bowl.

One Friday evening, after dismissing a houseful of potential sponsors from an impromptu dinner party, Rosa came upstairs to find him on his feet, making a slow but sure progress over to the water jug.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "You are up. Put on this gown, or you will freeze." She handed him a robe from the back of the door.

He frowned at it for a moment, suspecting it of belonging to her late husband, but put it on over the nightshirt that wasn't his either and tied the sash around his waist.

"Are you sure you should be out of bed?" she fretted.

"Rosa, if I spend one more day in this room…no, do not fuss, I can manage." He waved away her offer of an arm, tempted as he was to take her up on it.

He followed her out into a whole world outside the blue and grey sanctuary he had grown so used to, a world of passageways, staircases, halls, reception rooms.

"This is a large house," he remarked, clinging to the banister as he descended the stairs.

"There is more than enough room for two," agreed Rosa. "I could have several lodgers, if I were so inclined. But I'm not. Are you all right?"

She paused anxiously at the foot of the stairs, as if expecting him to collapse and fall the last few steps. While his legs felt stiff and not quite his own, he could feel the life beginning to revive in them and he stood straight, resting his hand lightly on the newel post.

"I am well," he insisted. "Show me the piano."

It stood in the corner of a generous drawing room, a sleek and impressive instrument.

"Erard," he said, running his fingertips along the mirror-polished top.

"I'm afraid my husband had it shipped over from Paris as a wedding gift," said Rosa, pinching her lips together. "And then I never played it. But now you are here, it will have the attention it merits."

Jasper sat down, somewhat gratefully, on the piano stool and lifted the lid.

He let his fingers loose on a series of scales. They were weaker than they used to be and he had to put an unexpected amount of effort into it, but he felt confident that this would be overcome with practice.

"You keep it well tuned," he said.

"I had it tuned just last week," she admitted. "For the first time."

"For me?"

She nodded and stepped back. He realised he was looking at her a little too intently and turned his head away, glaring at the keys. He was back at the piano, her by his side. It could have been five years ago.

But five years ago he would have been pouring all his frustrated longings into the accompaniment while she trembled and struggled to breathe out the phrase.

This was completely different.

"Well, I shall leave you to reacquaint yourself with the piano," said Rosa. "I have some letters to write."

Her voice shook a little; he suspected that she too had travelled back in time and found it disquieting. Well, he had no way of altering his past, but the future was something else. He fiddled with the right hand part of a once-loved Beethoven sonata until the melody blotted out all those old faces and voices and he was simply a man playing some music and nothing more.

Some months later, he sat at the same piano, listening to Rosa bid goodnight to the last straggling guests and performers.

The concert had been a great success. He had unearthed some decent instrumentalists in the neighbourhood and put together a choir made up of some of his pupils and their parents. He had sung some popular parlour ballads to please the philistines and played some of his own favourite pieces for the more discerning audience members.

The room had been full to bursting and each performance enthusiastically applauded. Judging by the brightness of Rosa's eyes and her permanent glow, ticket sales had realised a tidy sum too.

He heard the front door shut for the last time and looked up as she skipped into the room, her orange silk skirts swishing.

"It is a triumph," she said. "You are a triumph. And everything is a triumph. Oh, what a wonderful night."

"All went well," he said. "Better than I expected."

"We must do it again. Christmas is coming. We can have a Christmas concert. Carols around the piano. Some of your pupils can play."

"_Some _of them," said Jasper with a droll frown. "Others may have need of that iron-framed piano we saw at the Great Exhibition."

Rosa leant against the keyboard, looking down at him.

"There were so many astonishing things there," she said. "Do you recall that contraption with the leeches?"

"The Tempest Prognosticator? I suspect it will never catch on."

They were both silent for a while, lost in their own remembrances of that day together inside the remarkable Crystal Palace. Everybody had assumed Rosa to be Jasper's wife, and he had been so overcome with the urge to kiss her among the glassed-in trees that he had had to rush off and buy drinks for them both.

Perhaps recalling the same thing, Rosa said softly, "People have some strange ideas about us, you know."

Jasper's breath caught in his chest. So many times during these last months of torment and delight, he had thought that his moment had come. But each time Rosa drew closer, she retreated just as suddenly, taking fright, turning away, remembering some mundane task to be done. It was an intricate dance, but at least this time Jasper knew his steps. He had only to be still. He must let her find her way to him.

All the same, there were only so many times she could give him that certain look – that nakedness about the eyes, that little quiver of the mouth – before he acted. She must realise it. She must know how he lay awake at night, agonisingly aware that only wood and plaster divided them, forcing himself to be still, to forbear from getting up and knocking at her door.

As his strength had returned, fleshing out his bones and putting colour back into his complexion, so had his desires, almost stronger than before. Each day, as he awoke, he felt like Sisyphus, at the foot of the mountain with the boulder – his boulder being the intensity of his passions, which he must keep within bounds for another sixteen hours, never finding relief, even in sleep.

It had been on the tip of his tongue, at least once a week, to tell her to take him or let him go. But what would that achieve, except to turn her against him and leave him homeless, in worse straits than ever? It rankled with him to see the traces of her late husband all over the house – his maritime paintings and ships in bottles littering every wall and surface. If he wanted to call himself a man, he sometimes told himself, he should not live in another man's house. But the other man was dead. All the same, he felt like an impostor, and he suffered almost as badly from his masculine pride as he did from the neverending itch of lust.

But now – now that she stood facing him, close, with her voice so soft and low and her chest rising and falling with telling rapidity – now that moment might finally have come.

"Strange? How so?" he asked, taking his hands from the keyboard and letting them rest in his lap.

"Oh, I am sure you know better than I do the kind of gossip that attaches to widows and their gentleman lodgers."

She looked slightly away from him, as if afraid of his response, and her fearful coyness was irresistible to him, especially when her cheeks stained with slow, spreading scarlet.

"I am sure I do not," he lied, making her look back at him.

"Jasper," she said, with such ravishing exasperation, such delicious embarrassment. "You play the innocent very badly. And I am sure that your daggers looks at every gentleman who engages me in conversation add fuel to the fire."

"Daggers looks?" He smiled guiltily.

"Yes, you know very well what I mean. Coupled with the way you look at me…oh, you are doing it now."

"And is the way I look at you very much more suggestive than the way you look at me, Rosa? Because…" - he reached for her hands, which she did not withdraw - "…one can jump to some very interesting conclusions from what can be seen in your eyes. You cannot see your own face, but if you could…No, do not look away. You cannot hide it now."

Oh, the happiness of her hands in his, their warmth and their little nervous twitches, as if she knew she ought to pull back but she simply couldn't. Every impulse in her body seemed to be hurtling down to the dainty fingers he held so reverently. The moment was here. He had reeled her in. And now there would be no reeling out again, not ever.

"I should tell you to stop," said Rosa, almost to herself.

"To stop what?" Jasper rose to his feet, still holding her hands. "Loving you?"

"Oh, Jasper…" But she made no move away from him. Instead, she stood on her tiptoes, closer to him than ever, until their faces were less than an inch apart. "You could never stop that, could you? And if we look to the world like lovers, then perhaps…"

No power on Earth could hold him back now. He took her face in his hand and silenced her faltering words with his lips.

This was how it felt to kiss her. Was it better than the dream? Yes, it was, so very much better, because he had never imagined the taste of her, or the way her whole body fell into the embrace, like the crumbling of a besieged city wall in the moment of surrender.

He pulled her into him, sliding an arm around her, keeping her where she belonged. He was mildly surprised at the lack of token resistance, but apparently Rosa understood that she was his now. Uncomplicated joy consumed him. Life was the way it should be, at last.

Her lips were soft but her kiss was bold and she clasped her hands around his neck as if begging for more. He staggered back on to the piano stool, gathering her into his lap, keeping a tight hold on her as their mouths pursued further pleasures.

She was all silk and warm skin, wriggling sensuously on his thighs in a manner that could only get her into some quite serious trouble. Luckily, she seemed to welcome whatever trouble was coming her way. She twisted her neck, rubbing her lips into his cheek, breaking the kiss for a moment.

"Do you think me very terrible?" she murmured.

"Oh yes, terrible in the extreme," he whispered, kissing the perfumed spot below her ear. "But I am more so, and I shall prove it to you."

"You make me lose all restraint."

"Believe me, my love, the sentiment is mutual. Now hold on to me, Rosebud, for I mean to take you upstairs."

"Oh, I should tell you to stop, but…"

He kissed away the misgiving.

"Do you love me, Rosa?"

"I believe I do."

"Then there is nothing terrible in it at all. Come."


	7. Chapter 7

Jasper could not but remember, as he carried Rosa up the stairs, the last time she had been in his arms. The unexpected weight of her, her hopeless struggle, the cold, wet, precious burden he bore. In that moment, his entire life had changed course.

And now it would change again.

Without thinking twice, he took her to his room and, after kicking the door shut behind him, dropped her on to the bed.

She sat up, bright-eyed and eager, her lips beestung from kissing, her bosom heaving invitingly.

"This is scandalous behaviour," she said, but her tone was far from disapproving and when he removed his shoes and coat and joined her on the bed, she gave herself up to his caresses without remonstrance.

It was like the drugged trance of opium, and yet a thousand times better, to lie with Rosa in his arms, to feel how the silk outlined her body, to sense the warmth beneath. They clung to one another, kissing and spooning and clasping tight wherever their hands encountered pliant flesh, until Jasper felt Rosa's sensual languor quicken into arousal. Testing her, he put his hand to her breast, kneading at it beneath its flame-coloured silken casing. She put up no resistance, but joined him in a deepening of their kiss, parting her lips to permit the ingress of his tongue.

This little gesture of wantonness drove him to wild heights. He pushed his tongue further inside her mouth, sucking and biting at her lower lip, clashing his teeth against hers. Amazingly, she seemed to have no objection to any of this. He had always feared that, once he finally had his hands on her, she would find him too unbridled and take flight. He had failed miserably at keeping his passions within bounds, yet she drove him on, accepting everything he gave without fear, with gratitude.

The upper slopes of her breasts gave in to his explorations, but he could not feel her nipple beneath the stiff bones of her corset. The wretched garment had to be disposed of.

Breaking the kiss with some reluctance, he knelt up and pulled Rosa to a sitting position by her hands. She was breathing fast and shallowly, her whole face looking so different, so enraptured by her own daring, so free…

He found himself forgetting his intentions, too fascinated by the elemental change in her to remove his gaze.

"This is kissing," she said, as if she had made a scientific discovery that would change the world.

Taken aback, he laughed. "You have done it before, one presumes."

"Not like that."

"Then you should have been. And you will be. Very often, Rosebud." He put his fingers to her neck and pressed at the tender flesh there. She tilted her head, seeking more of his touch, nuzzling into it.

"What are you doing to me?" she asked wonderingly.

"I am making you happy, I hope," he said.

She nodded, blushing.

"I can make you happier. But you must take off that dress first."

"Oh!" She sounded surprised, but she was already reaching behind her to work on her buttons.

"No," said Jasper, taking one of her wrists in a preventative measure. "You can have no idea how many times I have longed to do this. Let me."

He stationed himself behind her and commenced a slow unbuttoning of her bodice. He could not stop himself from kissing the back of her neck, the wispy hairs that would not be contained by her pins tickling his face. He saw shoulder blades revealed and he kissed the hollow between them as well but then her chemise and corset hid the delights beneath from his eye. But soon enough, they too would be gone.

He lowered her sleeves gently from her shoulders down, his hands passing over her upper arms to the elbows, then plucking the lacy cuffs until she was bare-limbed. The top portion of the gown crumpled then about her waist and he wrapped his arms tight under her breasts and hugged her to him, laying his chin on her shoulder and covering her neck and face with kisses.

She sighed blissfully and reached up an arm, encircling the back of his neck in the crook of her elbow. So simple, so intimate a gesture and yet it gave him every permission he needed. She wanted him, she strove to be as close as possible to him.

He looped his finger in her stay laces and pulled. The corset loosened and was off within seconds. Now, at last, he could feel her real contours, her curves and angles. Underneath the silk chemise, her nipples were hard and round. He pressed his palms against them, nipping at her neck now. She responded by pushing herself back against him, thrusting out her chest. He caught her mouth and kissed her through it as he brushed and stroked the swollen buds. She wriggled under his hands and filled his throat with inarticulate sounds of pleasure.

"Now lie down," he murmured, helping her into a supine position before relieving her of her skirt and many, many layers of petticoats.

"I have never done this," she said, looking down at her body, now without its virtuous cladding, reduced only to her silk undergarments and stockings.

Jasper paused in his planned swoop on to her body and frowned.

"You have never…?"

"Oh, no, I mean, I have never been undressed," she said, half-laughing nervously. "By a man, that is."

"Ah, I see." Jasper was tempted to make some scornful remark questioning her late husband's credentials as a member of the male sex. For who could resist taking the opportunity to unwrap Rosa like an exquisite gift, layer by layer, until all her secrets were revealed? He had pictured it in his mind so many times that he could have drawn the sketch of her imaginary naked body from memory.

"You have a way of touching," she said shyly, when his hands alighted on the straps of her bodice and pushed them down. "Which is not at all what…I am used to."

"Truly?" He did not want to enquire too far, having no desire to be assailed by visions of Rosa and the tar. He attended to his removal of her chemise, assiduously and with many more instances of that unusual quality of touch to which she had referred.

"Yes. It is as if you…_understand_."

He unlaced and peeled off the garment, taking a moment to appreciate her bared breasts, just as he had thought they would be, pale mounds with a pert pink cherry atop each one.

He bent to kiss each exposed nipple, lightly flicking his tongue along the underside.

"Oh, that is what I mean," she moaned, jiggling her hips and arching her back. "You just _know _what will feel…what I want…the most…"

Her words were falling in on themselves, getting mixed up with her panting breaths.

He acceded to her signalled desire for more, feeling her nipples grow and tighten under his tongue until he had to stamp down a strange desire to bite them. That was probably not a good idea.

He knelt up, gathering his senses, all too aware that most of his blood had rushed post-haste to one particular region of his body. His cravat was now uncomfortably tight, so he took it off, loosened his shirt collar and unbuttoned his waistcoat too. It would not do to rush this. Having lived so long for this night, he intended to savour it.

Rosa lay in his shadow, struggling to prop herself on to her elbows.

"No, no, stay down," he said swiftly, discarding the waistcoat and pushing her back with a palm between her breasts. "I have not finished with you yet."

"Oh, you are so dangerous," she breathed, gazing up at him in a kind of rapt awe. "I ought to be afraid. But I am not."

"What should you fear?" He peeled down one of her stockings, smiling with his brows knitted.

"I should fear that my modesty and virtue are gone forever. You are taking them from me, and I don't think I will ever get them back."

"Do you want them back?" He removed the other stocking.

"I am a respectable widow with a charitable concern."

"You are mine."

"Can I be both?"

"That remains to be seen."

He hoped Rosa was not going to succumb to too many agonies of conscience, not now she was so nearly naked. But he thought he knew of a way to dismiss such ponderings, and it entailed the removal of her drawers.

So that was what he did next.

As if reflexively, she covered her crotch with her hands when he went to tug down the waistband but she did not struggle when he gently placed them at her sides. Once again, he lowered the garment, revealing the triangle downed with curly golden tendrils, the secret core of Rosa Bud. It was almost too much. He shut his eyes for a moment of something like prayer, then pulled them off the rest of the way.

Once again, she tried to hide herself but he took her wrists before she could succeed and pinned them down by the sides of her head, lowering himself to her lips to kiss away her coyness. He placed his knee strategically between her thighs, nudging them apart, and stroked her breasts, lulling her and keeping her inflamed at the same time.

When he was quite sure that she was his to do with as he would, he let one hand drift lower, over her belly, finding her curls and raking through them, settling on her inner thigh. He rubbed at the tender skin, rhythmically, until she was moaning into his mouth and he could feel the heat radiating from her, drawing him towards it.

Her fingers were in his hair now, tugging and clenching, and she arched her back, pressing her breasts into his lawn shirt. This was the moment for him to reach up between her nether lips and claim that part of her for his own.

She made an odd hiccupping sound into his throat and he took his mouth from hers and whispered endearments into her ear.

"Sweetest love," he breathed, finding and stroking the smooth rounded nub of her clitoris. "Give yourself to me."

"I can do no other," she half-sobbed. "Oh, you are undoing me. I am unable to resist you. What are you _doing_?"

"You have never been touched there?" He continued to stroke with sensitive fingers, dropping airy little kisses on to her neck as he worked.

"I have never…"

John Jasper owed a debt of gratitude to those lonely neglected Cloisterham wives who had offered furtive hospitality to the young choirmaster in years gone past, that much was clear. He had learned a great deal from them. The dockside whores of the world didn't seem to have done as much for Tartar. Or perhaps he was one of those men who considered that married love must involve as little pleasure for the wife as possible. Such men, he knew from his own experience, were common enough.

"Do you want me to stop?" He was confident now, sure enough of himself to tease her.

"Oh, you beast."

He paused mid-ply and she kicked her legs, urging him to continue.

His thumb drew circles around the swelling bud while his fingers pushed at the aperture behind, assessing it for tightness and lubrication.

"This is so…it is making me…I do not know what I am feeling…"

She sounded almost distressed, but her enthusiastic assistance of his efforts couldn't be mistaken. He saw the deep flush of her cheeks and the advancing look of surprise in her eyes and he made his touch still firmer, bringing her surely to the edge of pleasure.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and he felt her tighten around his fingers then spill warmth upon them. She clung to him as if terrified while the pleasure melted through her and his heart filled with intense, protective, inexpressible love for her. That she had allowed him this intimacy with her still seemed part-delusion to him, an opium hangover from years ago.

"That's good, my love, that's good," he murmured, feeling the final spasms die away. He kissed her parted, astonished lips, sucking at the lower before breaking off.

She had tears in her eyes and he kissed them as they fell.

"I have never…I did not know one could…" Coherent speech seemed beyond Rosa's reach.

"You have never felt the pleasure?"

She shook her head, looking utterly overwhelmed.

He wanted to laugh. This was the sweetest triumph imaginable. He might not have her maidenhead, but he would always be the man who had given her her first release. What an incredible dolt that fellow Tartar must have been.

"You have done something to me," she whispered. "Unlocked something. I don't know. Oh." She wound her arms tightly around him and kissed him with more ferocity than ever. "My darling," she whispered.

He extricated himself from her grasp, kissing her fingertips on the way up, and set to relieving himself of his shirt, then his trousers.

"I cannot wait another instant," he said, crouching back over her once he was undressed. "I must have you."

All else was forgotten now; there was nothing more in Jasper's mind than his abiding need to be inside her.

"You will not hurt me, I hope," she whispered as he aligned his pelvis with hers and found the tight little shallow dip beneath her nether lips. He pushed at it, gently at first, bathing his tip in her essences, hoping to convince her of his loving consideration of her.

"I will take care," he promised, but he knew his self-control was tenuous at best and he could feel it slipping. Now that he was so close to the goal of years, he needed to keep his head. He was still capable of ruining this crowning moment of his life.

Rosa's little whispered reminder had helped to steady his humour, however, and he held himself well in reserve, taking time to breathe deep and steel his sensitive nerves before taking the first small push forward.

Oh, the feel of her! She was at once tight and yielding, spreading and stretching to accommodate him as he made his slow advance.

He studied her face as he sheathed himself. She looked startled, as if this was not what she expected, and a little apprehensive.

He had to stop halfway and shut his eyes tight, overpowered by the sensations. He did not remember it being this good before. If he was not careful, he would spend before he was even in to the hilt.

"Dear God," he said through gritted teeth, then he opened his eyes to look at Rosa again. Her face was rapt and fascinated, watching him.

"I am not hurting you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "You are bigger than I am used to," she said. "I feared for a moment that you might damage me."

He kissed her, a long, deep kiss that lasted the time it took to slide his cock completely inside her. He had done it. He had her. At last. He almost broke down with the excess of his emotions, but he kept his head, took a moment to lie there, at peace inside her, with his cheek resting on her shoulder. Rosa would need a little time to adjust to his size, a gratifying thought indeed.

When he was sure he could contain himself, he propped himself on his elbows and spent a little time making tiny movements within her, back and forth and around, accustoming him to the feel and flexibility and heat of her. She held on to his shoulders and half-closed her eyes while pearly little teeth tugged at her lower lip. She was ripe for the taking, rising up to meet his moves and deepen them.

He put a hand underneath her, feeling her round bottom cheeks tighten against his palm. He squeezed them and she sighed, opening her thighs wider and hooking one leg around his waist.

Here was an unmistakable message. She wanted it. Well, she would have it.

He pulled further back, as far back as he dared, and then thrust. The friction was immediate and exquisite and he groaned under the weight of his arousal.

She rubbed her leg up and down his thigh, urging him on, and he was unable to do anything but comply now, trying his very hardest to keep his pace and force moderate.

"Do you want this, Rosebud?" he whispered, wanting her to open her eyes and see what was being done to her.

"Oh yes, yes," she averred, but she would not look at him.

He cupped the side of her face in one hand, splaying his fingers across her cheek, pulling at the corner of her eye.

"Look at me," he said.

She opened her eyes, looking so vulnerable, so bewildered, so possessed that his blood almost caught fire.

The bed creaked with every firm forward thrust, and she tipped back her head, exposing her throat, and cried out. It was not a cry of pain, though. It was some kind of expression of abandonment, of surrender, and it made Jasper speed up his stroke.

He knew that, if he kept her tilted at this particular angle, he would bring her to completion again and he would feel like a god.

"I want you to know," he said, pounding now, his attempts at restraint no longer possible, "that you are made for me, body and soul. I want you to own it."

Rosa, snaking and thrashing about underneath him, said something too indistinct to make out. He thrust hard again, reaching down to put a wettened finger on the bud between her lower lips.

"Own it, Rosebud."

"Yes," she said frantically. "Yes, I am yours, yes, take me, yes."

"Do you feel what I am giving you? Are you close?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she hissed, then her spine arched high and her leg clamped his and she tensed as tight as piano wire while he felt the waves of her climax ripple around his hard length.

It was his time, he could let go, he could send every last particle of himself rushing into her. With a few more rapid thrusts, he was lost, pouring into her, so long and so hard that, for a few seconds, he could neither see nor hear anything but whiteness and a roar in his ears.

When all was spent, he felt as if a part of him had been torn out, leaving him spineless and limp. He collapsed atop Rosa and fell into a kiss designed as a communion, an expression of love and astonishment and awe too huge to put into words.

Like survivors of a wreck on a stormy sea, they held on to each other until they could form thoughts once more.

"I did not hurt you?" he whispered, putting his hand on her downy triangle and stroking the curls.

"No, at least, not to speak of." She nuzzled her head against his chest. "Oh, how have I never known of this? What if I had died not knowing it?"

"We both could have."

"What is to be done, John Jasper? You have given me something I cannot now forsake."

"What is to be done? Why, very much more of what has passed, I hope."

She yawned and hugged him closer.

"I could stay in this bed forever."

He rather hoped she would.


	8. Chapter 8

Her sleeping face in the first creeping rays of the day's light reminded him of the night he had spent at the gatehouse, watching her.

But that night her exhaustion had come from the travails of despair, the cold hand of the killing sea still upon her. Tonight, her exertions had been of an entirely different nature. Blissful exertions, only left off some two hours since, comprising such a range of undreamt-of delights. Well, undreamt-of by her, he should amend. He had dreamt them all, at some time or other.

No, now he considered it properly, there was only one similarity between that night and this, and that was the burden of tenderness the sight of her at repose laid on his heart.

Since there was little likelihood of her awaking before noon, he supposed he ought to try and sleep himself. But he didn't want to leave the state of mind he found himself in. He wanted to draw it out, lest it should suddenly dissolve or disappear. He had uncovered the buried potential for happiness within his soul, and he was anxious that it might be transient, or too fragile to sustain. Therefore, while its visit to his consciousness continued, he was in no hurry to dismiss it.

He lay instead, looking at Rosa's flushed cheek and disarranged hair, listening to the shouts of early morning street-sellers and the wagon wheels creaking past. Another sound joined the cacophony, much closer at hand, and he sat up in bed when he heard the back door slam.

Young female voices could be heard in the hall, giggling and joshing, then rapid footsteps pattered up the stairs. Somebody knocked at Rosa's door, across the landing.

"Ma'am? Ma'am? If you please, it's May. I've brought my sisters to help clear up after the concert, like you said. Are you awake, Ma'am?"

Jasper glanced down at Rosa, still tightly in the grip of Morpheus.

It would not do to have May go into her room and find her bed unslept in. There would be an unseemly panic and then, most likely, a discovery. He must protect her reputation, even if it involved him in deception.

He crept out of bed and put on his nightshirt and gown, stopping by the mirror to make sure he did not cut too frightening a figure. His dark-shadowed eyes and unruly growth of stubble gave him pause, but when May banged once more on the door and asked if her mistress were ill, he moved more swiftly.

He opened the door the merest crack and put his head around it.

May turned around and seemed to shrink back against the wall, her eyes huge and fearful. Well, yes, he did appear to have this effect on young women. He couldn't think why.

"Oh! Mr Jasper, Sir," she said, almost a stifled scream.

"Mrs Tartar is not to be disturbed," he said. "She is fatigued after her exertions." He paused. That much, at least, was true. "At the concert," he added, when May looked bewildered. "I imagine she will sleep until noon."

"But what are we to do, then, Sir? We thought she was going to supervise the cleaning."

"Good heavens, you are capable of washing a few glasses, I should think?"

"Of course, Sir. But, begging your pardon, Sir, the little misses will be here soon, for their lessons. Am I to send them away?"

"I think it best. Just for today."

"Very good, Sir. She…" May paused at the head of the stairs and looked back at Jasper, who was more than ready to shut the door. "She ain't ill, is she?"

"No, no, do not worry. She is tired."

"Are you sure, though? I'd take it on myself so bad if she were lying there ill and I didn't do anything to help her. She's been such an angel to me and my family…"

May's lower lip trembled.

Jasper sighed in exasperation and dredged his resources of patience and kindness, not wanting to snap at the girl.

"She is not ill," he said, as reassuringly as he could. "You must not fret. She was extremely overtaxed when I said goodnight to her, and I am sure she needs only to recover herself with some undisturbed sleep."

The girl looked doubtfully at Rosa's door, then back at Jasper, who had composed his features into an expression of calm authority.

"Well, if you're sure, Sir," she said at last.

"I am quite certain of it."

"I shan't disturb her then."

"That is by far the best course of action."

"Right you are, Sir."

She turned and went back down the stairs, to Jasper's immense relief.

He took himself back to bed and continued his vigil, his sore eyes turned always upon Rosa while downstairs he heard much shouting and laughing and, at one point, some hammering on his piano which almost caused him to get up and deliver a stern reprimand. Almost. But it wasn't quite enough to provoke him away from his Rosebud's warm body at his side.

From time to time, the doorbell rang, and then there were high voices and whisperings and, more than once, tentative footsteps on the stair that turned and ran back down when May called that 'Mr Jasper will come out and catch you'. Then there would be joyous little screams, for he gathered that the youngest girls considered him some hybrid of Bluebeard and the big bad wolf.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, for the next thing he knew was another knocking at the door, his this time, and May's nervous voice.

"Mr Jasper, Mr Jasper, your pupil is here."

Oh Lord, his ten o'clock pupil! He had completely forgotten.

He sat bolt upright and ran his hands through his hair.

"Thank you, May, could you tell her…tell her…"

He couldn't say he was indisposed. That, coupled with Rosa's absence, might well lead to a certain construction being put upon it. And Mrs Richards, the mother of the pupil, was a fierce guardian of her daughter's morals and an indefatigable sniffer-out of those whose standards fell short of her own.

He leapt out of bed, checking that Rosa was still oblivious, and began trying to do several things all at once – pouring water from the jug into the basin, grabbing clothes from the drawers, pulling open his razor and assessing it for sharpness, cutting his finger in the process.

"Tell her what, Sir?"

"If she doesn't mind waiting ten minutes, I will waive my fee on this occasion." Mrs Richards would only refuse to pay anyway; nobody was a more jealous protector of her statutory rights.

"Very good, Sir."

May's skirts shuffled away across the landing and Jasper drew breath once more. He washed, shaved and dressed – none very fastidiously – in a matter of minutes while Rosa slept on. Before he left the room, he bent to kiss her forehead. She stirred and murmured something and he had to shut his eyes to dismiss the urge to throw off all his clothes and climb back in beside her.

But he turned his back and left the room, reaching his pupil and her glowering mother at a quarter past ten.

The lesson did not go well, for Jasper could barely keep his eyes open and, as Philippa played, May and her sisters swept the carpets and polished the wood as a sort of noisy chattering background accompaniment.

"I daresay your performances last night have drained the life from you, Mr Jasper," sniffed Mrs Richards, once eleven o'clock struck. "So I will try and take this lesson as an anomaly. You have always been so good until today."

"Please accept my apologies," said Jasper, stifling a yawn. "As you rightly infer, last night was somewhat taxing."

"Oh, Mrs Richards, good morning." Rosa entered the room, stiff as a poker and clearly trying not to wince with every forward step.

Jasper bit his lip and tried not to smile at his poor love's obvious discomfort. He ought to feel guilty, he supposed, but he did not.

"Mrs Tartar," said Mrs Richards. "Are you quite well? Have you had some kind of accident?"

"Merely some…stiffness of the joints. Perhaps this damp weather."

"You are astonishingly young to suffer from such a complaint."

"It is my misfortune; I have learned to bear it. May, where are my girls?"

"I sent them home, ma'am, as you was so tired. I tried to rouse you but you slept right through."

Mrs Richards looked sharply at Jasper, who was now yawning with a hand clapped over his mouth, and back at the haggard, creeping form of Rosa and pursed her lips.

"I see. Well, we shall depart. Come, Philippa." She grasped her daughter by the hand and pulled her from the room, as if anxious to protect her from terrible influences.

Jasper and Rosa could do no more than exchange looks in the presence of May and her sisters, and besides, his eleven o'clock pupil had arrived. There was nothing for it but to try and battle through the morning without collapsing head-first on the piano keys.

Meanwhile Rosa, without her classes to teach, lay on a chaise longue, as sapped as anyone he had ever seen in his life, accepting May's fussing and offers of tea and toast and tonics.

It was mid-afternoon before Jasper and Rosa could find a moment alone together. Jasper, realising that he had not eaten all day, had sent May to the kitchen to fetch him some lunch. He went to sit on Rosa's chaise longue and took her hand, looking seriously down at her wan face.

"You should have stayed in bed," he reproved. "You had no need to get up."

"When I woke up in that strange bed, alone, and heard the piano downstairs, I thought I was still in a dream," she said. "I thought perhaps last night _was_ a dream. And then I tried to move and I knew that it was not."

He smirked. "My poor Rosebud's petals are crushed," he said teasingly.

"I ache in every quarter," she complained, blushing furiously.

"Should I leave off my attentions?"

"You should not." She squeezed his fingers and smiled guiltily. "You have caught me in your trap, you terrible man, and now I feel I can never escape you."

"Good, because you never shall. But…" He lowered his voice still further and took a moment to steady his nerves. "I do not like to hear you called Mrs Tartar."

Her face straightened in an instant. "It is my name," she said levelly.

"I have never liked to hear it, and now I shall find it positively loathsome. How can I hear you called by another man's name when you have given yourself to me?"

"You want to erase all traces of his existence, don't you?"

"No," he protested, although he did. "But I want the past put behind and the present acknowledged. Acknowledged and embraced."

"Jasper," Rosa whispered. "We have been together one night."

"Not in my heart," said Jasper. "In my heart, nearly six years. How much longer must I wait to call you my own?"

"You already do!"

"You know to what I am referring."

"Yes. And I must tell you that your style of proposal has not improved a good deal since the last time."

"Rosa, I will not have this some hole-in-corner affair that must be kept secret. I cannot conceal my regard for you, if that is what you ask."

"It is such a step to take, Jasper."

"No bigger than the step you took last night."

She looked beleaguered and he regretted, for a moment, his pressing of her, until he recalled again that excruciating little twist of his insides every time he heard her called Mrs Tartar, and he determined to persist. To hear her addressed as Mrs Jasper was his life's highest and least eradicable purpose.

"But there will be such talk," she said, wringing her hands.

He took her arm, stilling her.

"Whenever we act, there will be talk. If we do not act at all, there will be talk. And if we are found out before I have the chance to make you respectably mine, then there will be such talk as you have never heard before in your life, Rosa. Do you not see that?"

"I want to think, and I am too tired."

"We can creep about the house, fearing exposure at every turn, or we can declare ourselves and let the world make of it what it will."

"But what will the world make of it?"

Jasper had no chance to reply, for May returned at that moment, with his food and a letter for Rosa.

He had leapt up from the chaise and seated himself at the table in a second. All the same, he thought he saw a flicker of curiosity on May's face.

He addressed himself to the wing of a fowl in broth with some greens while Rosa opened the seal of her letter and read.

"Oh heavens," she said, not long into her missive.

"Is there trouble?" he asked.

"No, not trouble."

"Then what?"

"When was this letter sent?" She took up the envelope and frowned at its postmark. "Oh heavens," she repeated. "They will be here at any moment. Oh, it is too bad of them not to give me more warning."

"More warning of what, from whom?" persisted Jasper, exasperation rendering his food undigestible.

She rang the bell on her side table and called for May.

When the girl popped her head around the door, she instructed her to make up the double bed in the second guest room.

"Visitors?" said Jasper, ready to cross the room and shake the intelligence from his beloved by her aching shoulders.

"Yes," said Rosa, pressing her lips together, her eyes vivid with anxiety.

"Who?"

"The Crisparkles."

Jasper laid down his knife and fork and went to sit by Rosa, taking the letter from her unprotesting fingers.

It was short and to the point and he read it through twice.

"They want to stay for a short while, to visit…" he sucked a breath in through his teeth, "Mr Landless. Why can they not stay with him?"

"He occupies a single room, or so I gather, at the Inns of Court."

"He is a lawyer?"

"He studies law, yes. I don't think he yet earns a living at it."

"You seem very well-informed of his movements."

"Oh, don't be jealous, Jasper. Helena writes me all about it."

Jasper swallowed. "I am jealous of everyone who has enjoyed your favour while I was out of it."

"Well, you are out of it no more, so take command of yourself, if you please."

"Helena is still your bosom friend?"

"We are in close communication."

"She does not know I am living here. You have not told her."

Rosa looked away, a guilty flush on her cheek.

"No," she admitted.

Jasper felt his bile rise. He had eaten the chicken too hastily, but it was more than that.

"And may I ask why not?"

"Oh, Jasper, you must know as well as I do that it would merely lead to a great deal of vexation and unwarranted concern. I suppose you know what Helena thinks of you?"

"She was never an admirer of mine," he conceded.

"No, and she wrote to me, while you were on your sickbed as I recall, about your theft of the laudanum. She spoke of you in the strongest possible terms. Was I to write back to her saying that you were my house guest? She and Crisparkle would have arrived at my door with the police in tow."

He considered this. "I suppose they would."

"They would see me as the vulnerable widow, you as the predatory criminal. They would do all in their power to release me from your influence."

"And now they are coming here."

"Oh, heavens, yes, they are coming here. Oh, what shall I do?"

"It is not a question of what _you_ shall do, my love, for you are not alone. As to what we shall do, well, it is clear enough. We shall be truthful and open with them. What else is to be done?"

"Oh, it is too hard! Can you not keep to your room for a little while?"

"No," said Jasper firmly, taking her hand. "There is no question of it. Besides, I have pupils."

"They will ask how we come to have met again."

Jasper nodded, thinking rapidly. "We cannot be truthful about that," he said. "I…wrote to you…asking your forgiveness…after I left Cloisterham…"

"No, that isn't convincing. Perhaps…I found you begging on the streets."

"I would never beg. Can I not have saved your life in some other manner? Snatched you from under the wheels of a cart horse? Delivered you from the hands of a band of brigands?"

Jasper found himself enjoying these images, wanting to linger over them. But there was not time to do so, for the bell rang and Rosa leapt to her feet and covered her mouth with trembling hands.

"Oh, please, go upstairs, at least until I have the chance to explain," she implored.

He shook his head. "I have pupils all afternoon. Take them into the other drawing room. But I feel I should be with you…it is too much to expect you to face them alone."

"Perhaps I will leave it until your lessons end. But then they will be curious about who is teaching piano in my house…oh. May has let them in. Hide!"

"I will not hide."

"Stay here, stay here. Oh Lord."

She flitted from the room, as fast as her poker-stiff legs could carry her, leaving Jasper to the remains of his lunch.

Affable noises from the hall faded as they moved towards the other reception room. There were five minutes until his next pupil was expected. Was he to stay here, tormented by imaginings of what was being said across the hall? He felt strongly that he should be with Rosa when she explained the new arrangement and, to that end, he pushed his plate aside and strode across the hall.

But his pupil arrived before he could reach the drawing room and he was obliged to discharge his duties for a vexatious hour before he could turn his thoughts to the visitors once more.

As soon as his pupil was gone, Rosa burst in, breathless, and stood with her back to the door.

"What have you told them?"

"Nothing, yet. I can't. I simply can't. I can't find the right words. I know they will fret and make a scene and I am just too tired for it."

"You should go back to bed," he said, coming away from the piano and leading her to the chaise. Once they were seated, he held her in his arms and let her head rest against her shoulder for a melancholy moment.

"I can't," she yawned. "I have company."

"Rosa, go back to bed and I will speak to them."

"They will call out the law on you."

"Of course they won't. I am doing nothing illegal."

"I can't go back to bed and leave them." She yawned hugely and put her arms about Jasper's waist, clinging tight. "I wish I could. I wish we could."

He kissed the top of her head. "I wish we could too."

"I want to tell them how much I love you now."

He tipped her face up to his and expressed his measureless gratitude and reciprocated adoration in a kiss, a slow and tender thing, intended to confer bravery and fortitude upon his flagging sweetheart.

She curved her arm around his neck and held on, dreaming into the kiss, her eyes shut, her consciousness half-flown. He lay back and pulled her across his body, meaning to snatch a minute or so of sweet togetherness before they returned to explain all to their guests.

It was in this wise, Rosa curled into Jasper's side as they drowsed in each other's arms on the chaise longue, that they were discovered.


	9. Chapter 9

"Rosa!"

The cry broke into Jasper's dream, fragmenting it so that he awoke to its commanding contralto. As he craned his neck towards its source, Rosa jolted in his arms, awaking just as suddenly.

"Oh," she exclaimed, her hand covering her mouth as she stared in mute horror at her friend.

Jasper, less aghast but still far from his ease, sat up and kept an arm around Rosa's waist, just in case the attitude in which they had been discovered had left any room for ambiguity.

Helena's eyes skittered from Jasper to Rosa. "I don't understand," she said.

"It's very simple," said Jasper, his native hostility towards Helena Landless causing him to bristle.

"Jasper," hissed Rosa, tapping his arm in warning.

"Helena, what is amiss? Is anything – oh."

Reverend Crisparkle appeared at his wife's shoulder, brows high, mouth an O of surprise.

"Jasper," he said.

"Crisparkle," reciprocated Jasper, sensing that this was not an occasion for manly handshakes or claps on the back. Instead, he maintained his position on the chaise longue, holding on to Rosa, who shook all over.

"What are you doing with this reprobate?" asked Helena, advancing into the room, her arms outstretched towards Rosa. "Has he hurt you? Threatened you?"

"Of course not," said Rosa, clinging tighter to Jasper's arm.

"Then I cannot for the life of me understand what he is doing here."

"Mr Jasper is my lodger. He came to me after he was cast out of Cloisterham."

"Cast out?" said Crisparkle, shaking his head. "There was no casting out. His misfortune was entirely of his own making."

"I told you, didn't I, of the theft? Rosa, you know what this man is capable of. I would have involved the police, but neither Septimus nor his mother would hear of it. Or this man would be in prison now, a convicted felon."

"Yes, Mrs Crisparkle," said Jasper, rising to his feet, his voice overpowering hers. "I could even now be lying on a bed of straw with rats for company, staring into an abyss of destitution and despair. That is the fate you, in your Christian wisdom, had reserved for me. But this lady, whom I had so wronged in the past, was better able than you to practise forgiveness and charity and, thanks to her, I live a respectable life, free from opium at last."

This silenced the Crisparkles for a moment or two, until Helena, looking pointedly at the chaise longue, and at their joined hands, muttered, "Respectable?"

"Mr Jasper is my lodger," said Rosa defiantly.

"Come, Rosa, I am more than that," said Jasper.

"Clearly," said Crisparkle. "But it is none of our business. Helena, perhaps we should seek alternative accommodation ―"

"Nothing is happening that would not be sanctioned under the most blameless of roofs." Rosa's voice rang out, confidently if not entirely truthfully. "For Mr Jasper and I are to be married."

"Oh, you cannot marry that man!" Helena appeared to have heard the worst news of her life; the polar opposite to Jasper's feelings on the matter.

"Why not? When I love him."

Helena subsided on to a couch. "This is more than my mind can comprehend," she said.

"Jasper," said Crisparkle, "perhaps you and I could adjourn to the other room while Rosa and Helena talk in private. What do you say, old fellow? Give the ladies a little breathing space?"

Jasper looked down at Rosa, who nodded.

"Very well," he said, but before he left, he kissed her cheek and whispered, "my bride that is to be."

He followed Crisparkle into the drawing room and took a seat opposite him. The pair observed each other silently across a marble-topped card table.

"I must say, Jasper, you're looking remarkably well."

Crisparkle broke the silence, his placatory tone soothing Jasper's rebellious spirit.

"Rosa has wrought a change in me," he said. "I know I owe you more than an apology for what passed during my last days in Cloisterham. And I also owe you a debt of gratitude for letting me go that night. I shall repay it."

"Oh, Jasper, you don't owe me anything. I often reproach myself, tell myself I should have done more to help you in your darkest hour. But you did seem to have an awful lot of darkest hours, and I had to consider Helena's feelings too."

"The darkest hours," said Jasper, with the ghost of a smile, "came before the dawn. All of them."

"My mother no longer keeps laudanum in the house."

"Pray you never succumb to toothache," said Jasper, with a more robust smile this time.

"No, no, it's terrible stuff. I had no idea how terrible until I saw how low it brought you. I would sooner suffer the toothache."

They fell silent once more, Jasper looking at the curlicues on the mantelpiece corner.

"You must give your mother my best regards," he said. "She was kinder to me than I deserved."

"She should not have given you laudanum. That was not kindness."

"She meant it to be so."

"Her intentions are never less than pure," agreed Crisparkle. "And she was more horrified than anyone by your shocking decline."

"I was within hours of death," said Jasper. "More often than I care to recall."

"Yet now you are the man I knew five years ago. It is an extraordinary recovery."

"And for that I have Miss Rosa Bud to thank."

"Mrs Rosa Tartar."

"Not for much longer."

Crisparkle made such a variety of pained facial expressions now, with the pinching together of lips and the furrowing of his brow, that it was clear he was struggling to find his next words.

"But how has this come about?" he asked at length. "Helena tells me that Rosa fostered rather a mortal fear of you, for many years. She says you persecuted her, Jasper, not to put too fine a point on it. You are, in short, the very last man I would ever expect her to marry."

"Since I have been in London, our circumstances have greatly altered."

"That much is clear, but how did you come to live here?"

Jasper fidgeted with his cuff button, wishing Rosa were here to provide collaboration.

"I came to London from Cloisterham and sought Rosa out."

"I am amazed, if you'll excuse my frankness, that she was prepared to see you."

"As was I, but I can only attribute it to my poor and broken-down condition. She took pity on me."

"Then she is an admirable young woman, Jasper, and she deserves the very best of husbands."

Jasper almost pulled the button free of its thread, horribly shadowed by a consciousness of unworthiness.

"I am very much better placed to be that man than I ever was," he muttered.

Crisparkle paused, contemplative.

"Well, it is none of my business," he said. "If you make each other happy, then you have my blessing."

"We are thankful," said Jasper seriously. He had expected a tense and difficult conversation, but Crisparkle appeared to have let him off lightly. He doubted Rosa was having such an easy time of it next door.

"Though, of course, Helena's blessing may well be harder won." Crisparkle echoed Jasper's thought.

"Rosa did not want to keep our arrangement secret from her," said Jasper. "But she feared the consequences of telling her."

"Well, I have sometimes felt the same way," said Crisparkle with a self-deprecating laugh. "How do you live now, Jasper? You teach music?"

"Yes, to private pupils. It's a good living."

"I must say, the choir rather misses your sense of direction."

"Who is choirmaster now?"

"A young fellow, brought up from one of the parish churches. I'm afraid he hasn't yet stamped his authority on the choristers, especially the older boys."

Jasper smiled. "The Lloyd brothers would try the serenest of tempers. William's voice will break very soon, I imagine."

"Yes. I suppose you must miss it."

"The choir?"

"The choir, the cathedral school, Cloisterham."

"No. I don't miss it in the slightest."

"None of it?"

"None of it. The choir, a little," he amended. "But my mind was so shredded by the vicissitudes of opium use that I barely recollect."

"I shall give a prayer of thanks for your deliverance from that oppressor."

Jasper nodded, having little use for the Canon's intercessions. Every fibre of his being wanted to be with Rosa.

"I think we should join the ladies," he said tensely.

"Oh, let them have their conference. They have not seen one another for months. When do you and Rosa expect to marry?"

"As soon as we can," he said. "As soon as I can obtain a licence."

He stood, unable to bear the suspense much longer, and left the room. Crisparkle hurried after him, remonstrating.

He found Rosa and Helena sitting side by side, in close confabulation.

"I cannot claim to approve of you, sir," said Helena, looking up, "but I have established that you have neither mesmerised nor blackmailed my poor girl, so I must accept her free choice. I congratulate you, Mr Jasper."

Later, at dinner, the conversation turned to Neville Landless and his legal studies. Jasper made little contribution to this discussion, but he listened keenly, especially when Helena made mention of where he lodged.

Neither he nor Rosa were the liveliest company and Reverend Crisparkle tactfully suggested retiring shortly after dinner, noticing that Rosa was in danger of falling asleep over her embroidery.

Undressing for bed, he poured silent curses on to the heads of the Crisparkles. Why had they had to come here? If they would only go away, he could sleep with his Rosebud again. He felt that they had wrenched her from his arms.

Still, he thought, sitting on the side of the bed and yawning fit to crack his jaw, perhaps it was just as well. Just for tonight. He lay back and shut his eyes and that was where he was when he awoke, some hours later, to a scratching at the door.

He shook the remnants of a somewhat disturbing dream from his head and went to open it. Rosa flung herself into his arms, putting her fingers up to his lips to silence any exclamation.

All drowsiness chased away by this unexpected vision, he shut the door quietly and led her over to the bed.

"What is this?" he whispered. "I hope the Crisparkles are not awake."

She lay on the bed and pulled him down beside her.

"I am sure they are asleep," she said. "I needed to speak to you, alone."

"You mustn't be caught in here," he said, stroking her hair and kissing her.

"Except by you," she whispered back.

"Mmm." He kissed her again. "What was it that you wanted to say?"

"Oh, everything, Jasper. Everything. Yesterday was such a disastrous mess of tiredness and surprises and half-finished conversations. The first thing is, yes, I think we should get married."

"We can hardly do other, now you have announced it to the Crisparkles," Jasper pointed out.

"I know, but as soon as I said it, I knew it was the right thing to do."

"Then I shall go to Doctors Commons and buy a licence tomorrow. Providing we can find a clergyman who can perform the ceremony at short notice, we can be married this weekend."

She nestled closer to him, holding tight.

"Helena thinks you will murder her in her bed," she whispered.

"She has more to fear on that score from her own brother," he replied.

"Jasper!"

"Rosa. Something happened to Ned. Whatever befell him was not at my hand. So what was it?"

"Why are you asking this now?"

"Because your visitors have reminded me of the existence of Helena Landless, and of the long shadow Ned's death cast over me. What if he had never died? All could have been different."

"Yes," hissed Rosa. "Because _you_ might have killed him. Do not reopen this old wound, Jasper. It cannot do anybody any good."

"Do you not wonder where his bones lie?"

She sighed deeply. "Yes, of course I do."

"Then should we not try to find out? Nobody is left to grieve him but us. We are the people who were closest to him at the time of his death. I feel it is our duty to…"

"Oh, when did you ever give a fig for duty, Jasper?"

"It is more than my duty," he said sombrely. "I owe him reparation."

"He is beyond such concerns now. Forgive yourself."

Jasper thought for a while.

"You have surprised me, Rosa. I thought you would be more eager than I to solve this mystery."

"I am afraid of what the conclusion might be."

"Truly? Even though you now know it wasn't me?"

"The day he died, I broke off our engagement."

Jasper grimaced in the dark. "I know. I didn't know at the time. Grewgious told me."

"He was convinced you killed him."

"I daresay he was. But your broken engagement – surely you cannot think…?"

"It was all I thought of for weeks. Though he had seemed to take it in good part, had he really? I never knew what he was thinking, never knew if perhaps, in taking away that one certainty of his life, I had swept all his other hopes along with it."

He shifted to his side and looked down at her face in the dark. Her eyes glimmered with tears. He brushed them away with his thumb.

"My love, you cannot think that you had any part to play in his death. You didn't. Your breaking off the engagement would have occasioned no more than pique. His soul was a work in progress, much unfinished, still awaiting many of the finer features. He did not love you."

"He would not have ended his own life?"

"Ned was the last person to do such a thing," asserted Jasper. "You must trust me on this, Rosebud. I knew him better than anyone. He loved his life."

"How strange it is to discuss him with you."

"He loved his life and now I love mine, for it contains you."

This declaration put a seal on the conversation, leading to kisses, which ended in exhausted entwined slumbers.

Jasper awoke towards daybreak, puzzled at first by the warm weight on his arm until his eyes focused in the half-light. There she lay, his Rosebud, his…yes. She had said she would be his bride.

His heart surged with optimism, then he remembered the Crisparkles, occupying the room next door. He ought to wake Rosa and send her back to her room. But not without something to remember him by.

He kissed her cheek and murmured into her ear, "Wake up, my love."

She stirred, her limbs moving languidly against his body. He scooped her closer, one arm reaching down to raise her nightgown and tried again.

"Wake up, sweet Rosa Bud, and see what I have for you."

She squirmed when he laid a hand on her bare thigh, and struggled to consciousness.

"What is…oh." She smiled up at him, then yawned. "Is it morning? I should not be here. And you should not be…oh…you should not…"

He was stroking her bottom, lightly, while he kissed the underside of her ear and then down to her neck.

"You were saying?" he whispered, feeling the resistance drain from her body beneath his touch.

"They are next-door," she hissed back, but when he pressed his lips on to hers, she was as eager a recipient as he was a benefactor.

She moaned a little, but only in a token show of protest, when he slipped his hand between her legs and dipped his fingers into the warm folds of her quim. He sought and found that luscious pearl and he worked at it, enjoying her tense little quivers. Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging at it.

He broke the kiss and whispered, "Do you want to leave?"

"Jasper." She pinched the back of his neck, hard.

"No? Tell me, then, what is your pleasure?"

"You well know what. Or was that long night we spent in here a vision?"

"No, indeed it was not, as your pitiful condition yesterday attested." He kept up his pressure on her bud, stroking slowly but rhythmically, setting off a series of small gasps from her. "But a new day has dawned, and I need to know if your condition has improved."

With one finger he prodded the opening of her sex, making clear his intent.

She gasped, somewhere between pleasure and pain.

"It is a little tender," she admitted.

"Then ―"

"Oh no, do not stop. I can overcome a moment of discomfort."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Please."

He lifted his own nightshirt and pulled her leg across his hip, easing her close, face to face, kiss to kiss, before easing his cock with considerate slowness inside her. He stopped for a moment when she held her breath and her muscles knotted, as against a moment of pain.

"Am I hurting you?"

She shook her head vigorously. "Just for a moment. I was not sure I would be able…but please…go on."

He went on, keeping every move as small and gentle as possible, conscious also of keeping quiet so as not to disturb their guests.

A part of him wished he could throw aside caution, pin her to the bed and ravish her without quarter, but the cheering thought that he had every other night of his life in which to do so held him in check.

Consequently, he held her close and brought her, with infinite patience and tenderness, to her undoing, adoring her as she muffled her little cries in his chest. He deepened his thrusts after that, only needing to look at her flushed face to push himself over that edge of pleasure.

And now they could truly welcome the day, welcome the anxieties and the irritations as much as the joys, because they had started it in a togetherness that would shed its glow over the succeeding hours until they could fall into each other's arms again.


	10. Chapter 10

Rosa was teaching her small girls, and the Crisparkles were on a visit to Neville Landless when Jasper, having an afternoon free of piano lessons, set off for Doctors Commons.

The marriage licence was speedily purchased and his next task was to find a parish vicar sympathetic to the idea of conducting a wedding at short notice. His route from Ludgate Hill to Rosa's house in Bloomsbury would take him directly through the Inns of Court. Where a certain Neville Landless could be found.

Although it wasn't his precise intention to seek the young man out, somehow his footsteps drew him towards the little court in Lincolns Inn Helena had named as his lodging.

It was a windy autumnal day, blowing the smoke and trash of the city around the close little alleys and courtyards of the legal quarter. At least it had blown the recent fog away and he could see his hand in front of his face and breathe air as clean as London ever offered.

The improvement in visibility did not, however, prevent him from bumping into a middle-aged gentleman emerging from the door of a legal stationer's shop.

"Begging your pardon," muttered Jasper, bending to help the man pick up the sheaf of parchments he had dropped on the pavement. As their eyes met, the pair froze in position and an uncomfortable silence developed.

"Jasper," spluttered the lawyer. "I never thought to see your face again."

"Likewise, I'm sure," Jasper replied, standing up and stepping back. "Well, I must be on my way."

"A moment." Mr Grewgious – for it was he – held up a finger. "It occurs to me that you might be in possession of certain intelligence relating to a change of circumstances as regards a…mutual acquaintance."

Jasper's answer was a stony stare.

Grewgious tried a more direct approach. "What is your business in London, Mr Jasper?"

"I live here. Good day, Mr Grewgious." He tipped his hat and made to walk off again.

"Excuse me." Grewgious trotted after him. "You mean to tell me that you have left Cloisterham?"

"I don't mean to tell you anything. It is you who cross-examines me against my will."

"I feel it incumbent on me to establish that you have not come here with the intent of harassing or otherwise disturbing that certain mutual acquaintance of whom I spoke."

"It is none of your concern, Grewgious, but I have not the least idea of harassing or otherwise disturbing anybody at all. And now I really must wish you good day, for, among other business, I must speak to a clergyman with regard to arranging a wedding."

"You plan to marry?"

"Indeed I do, and with all speed."

Mr Grewgious appeared to sigh with relief, his complexion losing some of the greyness that had come over it since recognising Jasper.

Jasper knew that he should simply walk away, that Grewgious would know soon enough what was in his mind. The old hostility nagged at him, all the same, and before his good sense could prevail, he found himself reaching into his inner breast pocket for the folded piece of paper it held.

"It so happens that I am lately come from Doctors Commons," he explained, "where I have purchased the marriage licence."

He unfolded the paper and held it up for Grewgious' inspection. The wonderful transformation this effected upon the lawyer's face made him smile in twisted triumph.

"And now I really must be off," he said, taking advantage of Grewgious' momentary speechlessness to turn and stride off at much too vigorous a pace for the older man to take pursuit.

Really, he chided himself, he should have held his peace. Now Grewgious would be straight to Bloomsbury to hector Rosa. But she possessed strength of character enough to defend and stand by her decision, he was sure.

He reached the narrow covered passage that led to Neville Landless' lodgings and paused. It was entirely possible that the Crisparkles were still with him. He repaired instead to an inn across the street, from which vantage point he could observe the comings and goings in the court.

After the passing of half an hour, he saw Crisparkle emerge from the passage with Helena on his arm and turn in the direction of Bloomsbury.

He drank up the remainder of his pint pot of half-and-half and slipped into the passage, quickly locating his destination at the top of a winding stair.

The door was opened in seconds, Neville holding up an embroidered handkerchief.

"You came back for ―." He quieted abruptly. "Oh. Mr Jasper."

"May I come in?"

"Ah, that is, I cannot think why you might be here."

"No, but if you let me in, I can tell you."

Neville looked anxiously over his shoulder and then back at Jasper, his dark eyes wide and perturbed.

"Could we perhaps talk elsewhere? There is an inn…"

"What is in there that I must not see?"

"No, no, come in. I am being unduly cautious, I am sure."

As soon as Jasper was in the room, he saw what Landless had hoped he would not. Framed on a sideboard were a number of sketches. Sketches of Rosa. Rather more skilfully rendered than those his nephew had essayed all those years previously, and with passion in every charcoal stroke.

Jasper went over to them, examining each of the three minutely.

"You drew these from life?" he asked, bending over a picture of Rosa on a garden bench, her winning smile captured with exquisite sensibility.

"The first two. The third is from memory."

Jasper looked more closely at the third. Rosa was standing by a piano, a haunted expression on her face.

"It is the way she looked on the night we met," said Neville, rather unnecessarily, for Jasper had divined this and a horrible pall of guilt had settled on his spirit.

When his visitor made no attempt towards speech, Neville filled the silence once more.

"My sister has given me your news."

Jasper turned away from the pictures.

"Has she? You will, therefore, be cognisant of the utter impropriety of keeping these sketches on display?"

Neville looked at his feet. His chest, Jasper saw, was rising and falling fast. He remembered the quickness and ferocity of Landless' temper, vividly picturing the night he had had to wrest the poker from his hand before he maimed Edwin with it.

"I do not think she should marry you."

Jasper's eyes flashed and his brows shot up. Landless was a tigerish little fellow, a fraction of Jasper's stature yet possessing enough hot blood to almost compensate for it. All the same, Jasper calculated that the Ceylonese man would not best him if matters fell to fisticuffs, which they hopefully would not.

"What you think is neither here nor there, Landless," he said. "She thinks she should marry me and therefore she will. I request that you keep your opinion to yourself and that you take down these pictures of another man's wife."

"You must have coerced her."

"Take them down, Landless, or I will do it on your behalf. I will not have my wife lusted after by all and sundry."

"The way you lusted after her, sir, when she was engaged to your nephew."

"Ah, yes, my nephew. The very subject I came here to discuss."

Jasper, struggling to keep his temper, reminded himself again that Rosa was his and nothing else mattered, least of all the barbs of this insignificant pipsqueak.

"You want to discuss Mr Drood?" Landless seemed wrong-footed by this, blinking rapidly.

"That is so. May I take a seat?"

"Please."

Landless pulled up a couple of rickety spindle-backed chairs and the pair were seated.

"Did you kill him?" opened Jasper without preamble.

Landless stared, open-mouthed.

"Of course not," he spluttered. "You said yourself, you told the Mayor, it had been so long without a body you couldn't keep the case against me open."

"I said that. But I'm not sure I meant it."

"It doesn't matter whether or not you meant it. In the absence of a body, the case was closed. Years ago."

"You know the law, of course, better than I do. But I'm asking you as the boy's uncle, as his closest blood relative, not as a cross-examining counsel in a court of law. To put my mind at rest. And not just _my_ mind, either."

"Rosa's?"

"My beloved Rosa's," he said, with emphasis.

"How have you ensnared her?"

"We are talking," snarled Jasper, "about my nephew. You left my house with him, around half past eleven on the night he disappeared. Where did you go?"

"I've been through all this hundreds of times," moaned Landless.

"Not with me. Where did you go?"

"We went to the cathedral."

"And what did you do there?"

"Nothing, really. We looked around it. Mr Drood told some ghost stories."

"Was that all you did?"

"We talked a little. He was in a strange mood, not that I knew him very well, but he seemed…uncharacteristically sombre. He said he'd been betrayed by one he loved."

"He said that? He must have meant Rosa. She broke off their engagement that day."

"I don't know. He mentioned no names. He said he'd lost a dream…or something like that. I don't remember the exact words. We talked of disappointment, of blighted expectations. I took offence at his manner, for his belittled me, as he always did, and I left him there."

"In the cathedral?"

"Yes."

"What did he say that gave offence?"

"He made mockery of my sufferings in life, as if his were in any way comparable. They were the petty irritations of a spoilt gilded boy. I left before my temper got the better of me."

"Are you sure of that? Sure you bit your tongue and left him? Sure you didn't raise your fists?"

"I went straight back to the Crisparkle house, sir. The storm was worse than ever and I did not want Mrs Crisparkle to worry."

"You left him in the cathedral?" Jasper repeated.

"Yes, I have said so."

"I suppose you didn't see anybody else about on that wild night?"

"Only a beggarwoman, sir."

"A beggarwoman?"

"Yes, loitering on the cathedral steps."

"Perhaps this woman saw him leave?"

"I cannot say."

"Describe her to me. Did she speak to you?"

"She had a shawl over her head, so her features were not distinct. She did not seem quite sober, for she was rocking back and forth and making a kind of queer moaning noise. She spoke some words, but they were not intelligible. I suppose she meant to ask for money, but she was too far gone in gin to form speech."

"Drunk, you say?"

"It would be my guess, sir."

Jasper pondered. "And you saw nobody else?"

"No, indeed, it was not a night to be out walking."

Jasper looked him up and down for a few moments.

"Why should I believe you?" he said suddenly, with such emphasis that Landless jolted in his chair.

"I am an honest man, sir."

"A lawyer," Jasper sneered.

"You may choose to disbelieve me, Mr Jasper, but I have seen how Rosa has suffered and if I could do anything to alleviate her condition, I would. I would tell her the absolute truth, whatever consequences might fall on my head, if it would give her one extra second of sleep at night."

"How romantic," said Jasper with bitter sarcasm, but he found himself swayed by the younger man's vehemence. It was a characteristic they shared, for all the differences between them. And of course, much as he disapproved of Landless' continuing worship of Rosa, he couldn't fault his taste in women.

"She deserves no less," said Landless softly.

Jasper looked up at the pictures again, at the seventeen-year-old Rosa standing by the piano. Edwin had made her cry that night. Had he loved her, after all, and been devastated by the blow of her refusal?

"Well, I shall question you no further," he said. "But I must insist that you take down those pictures. What on Earth did your sister and Crisparkle have to say about them?"

"I put them in the drawer for their visit," Neville confessed, shame-faced. "I had only just taken them out when you knocked."

"Put them away or I shall take them with me."

"No, I shall never give them up." Landless rose from his chair and rushed to the mantel, shielding the pictures like a guardsman. "They are all I have of her. And now that you have dashed my hopes, they are all I shall ever have."

"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife."

"What a fine irony, Mr Jasper, that it should be you quoting this commandment."

He managed a shamefaced little grimace and put his hat back on.

"Good afternoon, Mr Landless. I have clergymen to consult."

As he put his hand on the doorhandle, Neville called after him, "Treat her well!"

He turned and nodded. "I shall, of course. Good day, sir."

He returned to Bloomsbury and spent a wearisome hour trying to convince the vicar of St George's to accommodate Rosa and himself on the coming Saturday. Eventually, he prevailed and the date was set.

By the time he arrived at the house, it was early evening, the sun having set. He was halfway up the steps, comforted by the glow of the lamps behind the shades, when the door opened and Grewgious appeared, presumably on his way out.

He did not stop to speak or even look at Jasper but hurried down and betook himself across the street, apparently eager to be well clear of the house.

Behind May's figure at the door, he heard Rosa's voice.

"Really, you must go home now, May. It is getting late and your mother will miss you."

"Thank you, ma'am, I will."

She scampered down the steps, nodding shyly at him as she passed.

Jasper entered the hallway and shut the door.

"I see you have had a visitor," he said, taking off his hat and gloves.

Rosa's head peered around the drawing room door.

"Yes, and I am vexed with you, John Jasper. Why did you have to goad him? I have spent these last two hours having to reassure the poor man that I am not the victim of some evil scheme of yours."

He cocked his head to one side and smiled.

"Are you not?" he said.

She looked over her shoulder.

"Jasper," she said nervously.

"Where are our guests?"

"They are eating out with a friend of Reverend Crisparkle's."

"And May and all the girls are gone home?"

"Yes."

"So we are alone here?"

He took a few steps forward, watching the slow stain of a blush spread over Rosa's cheeks.

"You have but one thing always in mind," she protested, backing into the drawing room.

"Oh, so you can tell what I am thinking?" He stalked after her, quickening his pace until she turned and ran to hide behind a chair.

"It is not hard," she said.

Well, she was quite wrong about _that_, he thought.

"Come out, Rosebud, and come to me." He crooked his finger at her.

"You are a wicked man," she said, gripping the back of the chair as if she meant to lift it and shield herself with it, like a lion tamer at the circus.

"Who is wickeder, the temptress or he who yields to her?"

"I am not a temptress!"

"Oh, but you are. Now come here, Rosebud, for I must whisper something in your ear."

She trembled behind her chair, but he could see that she was giddy, her senses heightened by excitement.

"You may come and whisper it," she said. "But you must keep your hands behind your back. And you must kneel on the chair and keep its back between us. No, on the _chair_."

For Jasper had taken a step to the side, as if he meant to swoop down on her from her right.

He held up his hands, then put them behind his back, humouring her. She needn't think she was getting away from him, all the same, and he imagined she knew that, in the end, she would be run to earth.

With a fiendish smile, he knelt on the chair and leaned down, placing his lips to her ear. She rocked on her feet, as if preparing for flight. If he looked down, he could see her bosom rising and falling quickly inside its covering of shot silk.

"The wedding takes place on Saturday," he whispered.

"So soon!"

"Why wait?"

Her neck tilted towards him; she obviously enjoyed the sensation of his breath falling on her skin.

"It is only three days."

"Yes, and that is why we must practise."

"Practise? Taking our vows, you mean?" Her eyes were wide, her gaze cautious but also provocative.

"No, I don't mean that. I mean…" And here he broke his unspoken promise to her, whipping an arm out from behind his back and wrapping his hand around her elbow. "_Consummation_," he whispered, yanking her around the side of the chair.

Before she could even form words of protest, he had her ensconced on his lap, her arms pinioned behind her back with one hand while he used the other to fiddle with her dress buttons. Anything she might have had to say about this state of affairs was effectively muted by his hungry mouth on hers.

She wriggled against him, but this only served to inflame him further and tighten his hold on her accordingly.

Once he reached the final button, he released her lips and spoke again.

"Stand up, my love," he whispered, helping her to her feet. "If you promise to behave yourself, I'll free your arms."

"Behave myself? When it is you who assails my virtue." But she was smiling coquettishly, trying to keep from breaking into a broad grin.

"My dear, I hardly think you can claim innocence." He removed her dress and petticoats. She offered no resistance at all, not even when his hand cupped her breast inside her chemise, still less when it crept between the slit of her drawers and ran over the curve of her bottom.

"Now can you?" he whispered. She was so warm to the touch and he felt the jungle steam emanating from between her thighs. Oh, she was ripe, always ripe for him.

"You have turned me into this wanton thing," she sighed.

He took off his waistcoat, unfastened his braces, let his trousers and undergarments go until he stood in only his shirt, then he sat back on the chair, pulling Rosa on top of him.

Soon enough, spreading her drawers wide open, he had her positioned atop his erect staff, his hands on her hips, hers on his shoulders, ready to lower her down.

"Oh, this is wrong," she fretted, but she made no attempt to clench or shift away when he pushed his swollen tip inside her. Instead, she tightened her gluteal muscles and swivelled her hips a little, preparing to be stretched still wider.

"Not wrong," he assured her, his lips against her ear again, one hand sliding around to her bottom and patting it gently. "Never wrong, love. Meant to be. You are built for this, and so am I."

He felt each inch of him slip inside as she strained to admit him. He reached behind her with both hands and spread her rear cheeks, easing his access, although she gasped and widened her eyes as if her modesty had been affronted.

"What is wrong?" he asked, fully sheathed now, holding her on his lap, impaled and at his mercy.

"Where you are touching me," she said, almost inaudibly. Ah, another of the tar's failings. What an unimaginative man he must have been.

"Surely you have been touched here before?" He let one sly finger burrow deeper into the crease until it abutted her tight little rosette.

"No, never!" Her mouth was a perfect circle of surprise.

"Oh dear, Rosebud, what I have in store for you…Do not fret. You shall not be forced into anything you do not want to do. But I have so much to give you…oh, dear Lord, so very much." Slightly overwhelmed, he had to shut his eyes for a moment and clear his head. "But for now, simply this."

He nudged her into a steady rocking motion, feeling her grind against him, a little chaotically at first until she was used to the angle and the rhythm and the sensation of fullness he must give her.

As their pace increased, he drove her onward with passionate kisses, placing his hands on every sensitive spot of her body. She worked hard, her inner muscles gripping him tight, building the friction between them until she was flushed and sheened with perspiration all over her skin. He pushed his finger back between her posterior cheeks and exerted a mild pressure there which she noticed but did not resist. Instead, she caught her breath and buried her face in his neck, too shy to meet his eye and admit that what he did, wicked as it was, aroused her even more.

When she clenched her fists into his shirt, yanking at it so it almost ripped, he knew she was at the gateway of her release, and he pushed that finger just that little bit further, opening her. The effect was immediate and startling; she unleashed a helpless, broken wail and kicked her legs like fury.

"Yes, my beauty," he hissed in her ear, "yes, you like that, don't you?"

She made a piteous mewl of unconvincing dissent, and then he held her even tighter and spent his seed, his release commencing just as hers began to die away.

The panting, soaking aftermath consumed them for a long while until eventually he thought that Rosa must be deliberately avoiding his eye or making any utterance.

He took her face in his hand and tilted it upwards. She tried to shy away then, when she could not, she shut her eyes.

"Rosebud," he murmured. He pressed his lips to hers, lightly and swiftly. "You make me the happiest man alive. I hope I can do likewise."

She opened her eyes then, and glanced coyly upwards.

"I do not disappoint you with my…unnatural…wantonness?"

He laughed and kissed her forehead, tasting salt.

"Heavens, no, no, no. A thousand times. You…enrapture me…with your…spirit of willingness and courage and your natural sensuality. It is clearer to me each time we couple that you are my perfect mate. If you fought me off and were prim and tight, I should know that we were ill-matched."

"It is just that…all I have learned about behaving like a lady…and then you have come and undone it all, and I am a creature of flesh and sin."

"Flesh and sin is one interpretation of it. I prefer to call it love and desire."

She smiled, still a little coy.

"I knew you would be like this," she said. "It is why I feared you so much when I was younger. I knew you had the power to enslave me completely, force me to surrender to my darker, baser nature."

"It is neither dark nor base, love. Why are you given the capacity to feel pleasure if you are never to use it?"

She subsided on to his chest once more.

"Yes," she said, as if she had weighed this thought up and found it pleasing. "Yes, I shall look upon it in that wise. But it is as well that we are marrying soon, Jasper."

"I am in agreement with you there."

**A/N: Hmm, got a bit carried away there. That sex scene is more than twice the length I intended…what a pity. That Jasper is a bad, bad man.**


	11. Chapter 11

Jasper and Rosa, enervated from their evening bout, lay drowsing together in the armchair, half-dressed, half-asleep but with one eye on the clock, ready to leap up the stairs should the Crisparkles curtail their dinner plans.

Cradling Rosa's sleepy blonde head in his arm, Jasper felt waves of the day's events wash over him, blending into confusing montages. Grewgious' parchments blowing away in the skittish wind, Neville's dark eyes merging with Helena's, always accusing. Their voices mixed together and then he heard his own and he was saying something, a word, that seemed mystifyingly significant.

He jerked wide-awake, the word on his lips. "Unintelligible."

Rosa, cat-like, opened one eye and yawned.

"Mmm?"

He stared at her, holding his breath. No, it was too remote a possibility. All the same…

"I have to go out," he said, reaching down for his trousers and braces.

"Out?" Both Rosa's eyes flew open now and she sat up straight. "Now? Whatever for?"

"He said her words weren't intelligible. But what if it wasn't gin? What if it was opium?"

"What if _what_ was opium?"

"And she was in Cloisterham that day. I saw her."

"Who was? Jasper! Stop this and talk to me."

Rosa sounded much as she did when she scolded one of her little pupils, not that she was given to cross words, for most of the time she was gentle and sunny in the schoolroom.

He fastened his braces and drew a breath, looking down at her. He should not keep secrets from her, but the habit of secrecy had been a hard and fast part of his nature for many years and undoing it was not the work of a moment.

All the same, he decided to let her in on his investigations.

"I went to see Neville Landless earlier."

"You…Jasper! What on earth are you playing at? First you drive Grewgious into a frenzy of anxiety and then you go and visit Neville Landless! You are like some vengeful spectre haunting every adversary you ever had."

"Vengeance was not on my mind. Not with Landless, at any rate. Though, do you know, he keeps sketches of you in his lodgings and moons over them night and day?"

Rosa blushed. "No, of course I didn't know that."

"I suppose you have offered him no encouragement?"

"Jasper!"

"He has nursed hopes for years."

"That means nothing. So did you! Did I encourage your hopes in that direction?"

Jasper conceded the point, the burden of miserable years weighing down his mind for a moment.

"No."

"You have an excessively jealous nature, Jasper. I wish you would curb it. I love you very much, but I do not love being falsely accused."

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I fear your loss, even now."

"Well, you needn't. But you do need to tell me what you meant by visiting Neville Landless."

"Merely to discuss the last hours of my nephew's life. He was the last person to see him alive, as far as we can establish. I have never had the opportunity to interview him on the subject."

Rosa was silent for a few moments.

"I see," she said, without enthusiasm.

"You do not want to know what happened to him?"

"I do not see how it can help. He is dead. We have grieved. We have, some of us, spent years crippled by guilt and self-hatred. Let him lie, my love. He is at peace."

"But I am not."

She stood and took his hand. "Oh, Jasper, when will you let yourself rest?"

"I do not need to rest. I am not dead yet, unlike Ned. Rosebud, I need an answer. I need to close this case, or it will chip at me ceaselessly. I owe it to him."

Rosa kissed his hand and placed it on her cheek.

"I understand," she said. "So, what did Neville say, that has spurred you into action now?"

"He said there was a derelict woman on the cathedral steps when he left. He thought she was drunk – he said her words were 'unintelligible'. But opium also renders speech unintelligible, for the most part. I know from hearing the senseless babble of my fellow addicts."

"Oh, don't, I hate to think of it."

"But it's important, Rosa. I know that a certain woman, the proprietress of an opium den in Limehouse, had been that day in Cloisterham. The woman on the steps might have been her. She might have seen Ned leave, might even have followed him."

"It's a very remote possibility," said Rosa dubiously.

"But it _is_ a possibility. And therefore I must go out and find her."

"Jasper, can it not wait?"

"Wait? It has waited nearly six years. She may be dead. She may die tonight. I must know."

Rosa dropped his hand and stooped for her petticoats.

"Then I shall come with you," she said stoutly.

"Oh, no, I think not."

"But I want to."

"I won't have you walking the mean streets at night, Rosa. And besides, who shall let the Crisparkles in on their return?"

This question was swiftly answered by a knock at the door.

"Oh heavens," fretted Rosa, picking up her dress and running from the room and up the stairs. "Tell them I have gone to bed."

Jasper smiled after her fleeing figure and went to answer the door, still in his shirtsleeves, but he imagined the Crisparkles would excuse him.

"I am afraid Rosa has retired for the night," he said, admitting the couple. "She apologises."

"Oh, it is of no moment, we are perfectly exhausted ourselves," said Helena. "I have no idea how people live in London; it is the most wearying of cities."

"Cloisterham life hardly prepares one," agreed Jasper. "And now, if you will excuse me, I must go out."

"So late?" said Crisparkle, bemused, but Jasper merely put on his coat, hat, scarf and gloves and sailed out of the front door without another word.

He caught from the corner of one eye a glimpse of Rosa at her window, and heard her tapping on the glass, but he put her determinedly from his mind as set off in a south easterly direction, across the City and down towards the river, bound for Limehouse.

On the banks of the Thames, remnants of yesterday's fog lingered, stubbornly refusing to let the blustery wind dislodge it. The buildings creaked with each new gust and shadows loomed up with alarming suddenness, usually proving to be sailors staggering from tavern to whorehouse to opium den.

"Have a care," snapped Jasper at one such, who almost brought him down on to the slimy cobbles, but he appeared not to understand and, indeed, was unlikely to be an Englishman.

In his days of frequenting opium dens, Jasper had shared his vice principally with travellers from the far East, Chinese or Malay, although the drug's popularity with a more local clientele appeared to have grown exponentially over the years. A remarkable cross-section of society could sometimes be found at Princess Puffer's palace of iniquities, from jaded young lordlings looking to slum it for thrills down to broken paupers, willing to sell anything and everything for their daily pipe. As far as he recalled, though, he had been the only one 'respectably' employed.

At the doorway of the dilapidated building whose threshold he had so often crossed before he paused and looked upward. A peculiar kind of horror had settled on him at first scent of the sweet, thick, smoky smell wafting down the stairs. Oh, how that smell had quickened his eager step in days gone by. It seemed almost beyond belief now, that he had traded his future for poppy seeds. Why would any man do such a thing?

Oblivion had been his aim, he remembered. That first time, he had sought nothing more than forgetting. But instead of helping him to forget his passionate jealousy and impotent rage against his nephew, it had transformed it into something else: the dream of Edwin's murder, and of Rosa's consequent possession. Had it made him evil, or was he already so? He was still unable to separate these strands in his mind.

To think too much of it was dangerous. If he allowed the full consciousness of his lowest time to flood back into him, he would lose all the brightness of his present and future. The danger of reverting to that repressed, self-loathing, miserable creature still existed, and he might as well throw himself into the river before succumbing to it.

The thought of Rosa cleared his head, saving him from unwelcome introspection. For her sake, he was a better man. For her sake, he would strive to remain so.

His step on the rotting stair was determined, and he made an effort to shut out that alluring fragrance from his olfactory nerves.

Pushing open the door, he had to put his hand to his lower face to avoid choking. The air was not air, but smoke, clinging to every surface and owning the spaces between. To breathe it was to give oneself to opium.

The Princess was popular tonight. Every bunk was occupied with dead-eyed muttering souls while the presiding grace herself sat on a wrecked divan, surrounded by customers who watched her prepare her compound as avidly as if she performed ritual magic.

Nobody paid any heed to the newcomer.

Not until he loomed over the poor wretches did anybody register his presence. Princess Puffer looked blank at first, then she prepared her welcoming face, then she dropped her spoon into the flame, to the consternation of her clientele and took a sharp breath, ending in a hideous racking cough.

The men surrounding her glared at Jasper with frank and somewhat murderous dislike. He had interrupted the ritual, and payment must be exacted. One of them leapt to his feet and, although he was of diminutive stature, he seemed capable of serious damage.

Princess Puffer put a hand on the aggressor's forearm and shook her head at him. When she gestured to him to sit back down, he subsided without a murmur.

"He don't speak a word of English but he understands his Princess," she said to Jasper. "He'll do anything for her, won't you, lovey? As long as she's got what he wants. I remember another like him, though he was well-spoken and an Englishman. What happened to him?"

"I am free of opium," said Jasper.

"Well, fancy," she said, with a bitter edge, taking up her dropped spoon and holding it again, low down to the flame, while the contents melted and mixed. "Come here to spread the good news, have you?"

"No."

"Thought not. Here's one for you, ducky." She filled the bowl of the pipe and handed it to the pugilistic Lascar before looking back up at Jasper. "Well, sit down, why don't you? Smoke a pipe with us."

"I shall never touch that stuff again."

"Sorry, lovey, rules of the house. Nobody leaves without smoking a pipe."

"I'll pay you for one instead."

"Them's reasonable terms," she said with a shrug. "But you was a five pipe a night man at one time. I miss the lucre, I won't deny."

He sighed, reached into his pocket and extracted a handful of silver.

"Oh lor', no, you don't know what the market's like nowadays, my dear, so long you've been lost to us. Just a thimbleful will cost you three and six. What you've got there would scarcely pay for two little pipes."

He sighed again and replaced the silver with a golden guinea piece.

At that, Princess Puffer's face lit up and she reached out, kissed the coin and promptly dropped it in her bosom.

"More like it," she nodded. "So if you don't want me to render the usual service, why are you here?"

He looked with distaste at the other customers.

"Don't mind them, sweetheart, it's all double dutch to them."

"Nonetheless, I would prefer to speak with you alone."

"I don't know as it's quite safe to be alone with you," she said, with sudden coldness.

"There is no need to leave this room as long as we are out of earshot," he said, hackles rising to absurd heights.

"Well. They've paid upfront and they know what they're about." She handed over her apparatus to one of the customers, who set to work straight away, and stood up, walking with Jasper over to a spot near the door, which she closed against further visitors.

"I don't much care to be interrupted when I'm working," she said. "You're losing me customers."

"I will be brief. You came to Cloisterham, one Christmas Eve, some years ago."

"Did I? I can't say as I remember. Me wits is awful addled these days."

"I can give you more money, if that will serve to straighten them."

"Well, it might well do, for all that, my dear."

The silver made its reappearance and she added it to the haul down the front of her chemise.

"What did you there?"

"Such a long time ago, goodness me. And you, my favourite customer back then, my lovely respectable young man. I looked forward so to your visits. And you had the most _interesting_ dreams." She pushed her tongue through her broken front teeth in a horrible parody of coquettishness.

Jasper's cheek twitched, signalling his intense disquiet at this line of reminiscence.

"You will answer my question," he said.

"Cloisterham," she said, affecting an effort of memory. "Funny little place, ain't it? That great cathedral and castle, like you'd see in a proper city, but it's just a little winding street and not much more to it. Queer, I calls it. Now hold your tongue, for I can see your patience is wearing thin. I'll come to it, dearie, never fear."

"Come to it with more dispatch, I pray you."

"You must allow an old woman her ramblings, when she ain't got much else left to her. Lor', look at you, back to your health and strength again. I miss your handsome face, I do. You was wore down to a skeleton last time I saw you. I thought you must be dead."

"Death and I almost made acquaintance," he confessed with a tight nod of his head.

"Don't you talk beautiful too? Always liked that in you, I did. You can tell the class of a person by her customers, you know? All right, all right. Cloisterham. I went there on Christmas Eve because I had a mind to look up an old friend."

"Who but me do you know in Cloisterham?"

"Like I said, I've an old friend there, a lady. I paid her a call."

Jasper could not help but regard this story as somewhat dubious and he frowned at Princess Puffer accordingly.

"So you came there by train?"

"Yes, and I went to my friend's house and we shared a pipe together and I fear we slept through most of the afternoon."

"Your friend is also an opium smoker?"

"Yes, she is, of long standing, and it has been her downfall, I'm sorry to say."

"In that she is not alone."

"Well, you ain't wrong, I dare say."

"At what hour did you leave your friend?"

"I'd say it was late in the afternoon, the dark coming on, and the storm too. Remember that storm, do you?"

Jasper shivered. Yes, he remembered that storm.

"I realised too late that I had no money for my train, and I stood in the street trying to beg it."

"I saw you there."

"Did you now, dearie? Why didn't you come and say hello?"

Jasper made a droll grimace.

"Not good enough for the likes of Mr High-and-Mighty Choirmaster, eh? Well, never mind. The opium was still upon me and I had to go to the churchyard to sit down. I got my three and six there, from a very nice young man. I think you might have known him."

Jasper stiffened.

"Lovely looking boy, fair haired, quite the young gentleman."

"Tell me it was not…"

"He told me his name was Edwin, and do you know what I said?"

"Of course I don't," said Jasper impatiently, wanting to shake his whole body violently so that the creeping sensation of nausea might recede.

"I said he should be thankful his name weren't Ned."

"And…" Jasper, short of breath now, felt his stomach convulse. "And why? Why so?"

"A threatened name, I told him. A dangerous name. And you know why, don't you, dearie? You know perfectly well why."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything much, just went on his merry way and me on mine."

"To the station?"

Princess Puffer looked down, and if she weren't wearing so much rouge, Jasper might have perceived a blush.

"Well, I'm afraid that three and six went into the apothecary's till, for I went there and bought myself a bottle of laudanum. It was so cold, you see, and me bones was aching."

"So you didn't get back to London that night?"

"I drank me laudanum and, I suppose I must have fallen asleep in the park where I took it… I woke up and the wind was powerful strong. I thought to go in the taverns and beg my train fare, but there was a branch fell on the line and the stationmaster said no more trains would run until the day after Boxing Day. So that weren't no good to me. So I took me begging money and bought more laudanum and went to the cathedral steps and drank it there. It was half in my mind that I might see you."

"You went to the cathedral to look for me?"

"I did. I knew what was in your mind, John Jasper."

"How did you know where I lived?"

She held up her hand and smiled.

"Oh, I know all about you, dearie. More than you know yourself."

Jasper tugged at his scarf, half-longing to wrap it around the provoking woman's throat. He was that man again, that murderous, raging man he had been on the night she described.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded sharply.

Before she could reply there was a loud rapping at the door.

"I've a full house," called Princess Puffer. "Try Millikin's at number 56."

"I'm not here to take opium."

The voice belonged to Rosa.


	12. Chapter 12

**And now, prepare for the most melodramatic story of all time…**

"Who might you be?" croaked Princess Puffer, at the same time as Jasper enjoined Rosa to go home immediately.

"I'm not going home," insisted Rosa. "Not alone, at any rate."

"Got ourselves a sweetheart, have we?" leered Princess Puffer.

"Don't let her in. Rosa, go home, I…I order you!"

"Rosa, is it? Never your little Rosebud what you used to make such a song and dance over back in those times past? Why, I've a very good mind to take a look at her."

Jasper lunged at Princess Puffer's wrinkled paw too late – she had already lifted the latch and now Rosa almost fell into the room, having had her shoulder against the door.

"Ooh, here she is, the little heartbreaker," cooed Princess Puffer. "Pretty thing, ain't she?"

But nobody was listening, Jasper having caught hold of Rosa as soon as she had staggered forwards. Now he held her straight before him, by the wrists, glowering down at her. He thought she could have the grace to at least look intimidated, but she glowered right back.

"What the devil do you think you're doing?"

"Following you, of course."

"This is no place for a woman."

"Charming," said Princess Puffer, raising an eyebrow. "What's that make me?"

"It's no place for any human being," rejoindered Rosa. "It's the most unpleasant place I've ever seen. I couldn't just sit at home waiting for you. I was so worried. I thought you might never come back."

Her genuine distress at this thought melted away some of Jasper's ire.

"Of course I would come back," he said, more gently. "Why would I leave you?"

"All kinds of dangers could lurk here."

"My point precisely," he said with an access of severity.

"Don't you two lovebirds mind me," Princess Puffer weighed in. "Tiff all you like. But I've got a business to keep on its legs 'ere, so you might go and do it on the stair."

"No, no," said Jasper. "Our conversation is far from concluded."

A pair of customers dragged themselves off a bed and left the room without so much as a nod to their hostess.

"Come and sit down," she said, walking with them to the vacant mattress. "If you're stayin'."

Jasper placed himself between the Princess and Rosa, determined to keep the opium dealer as distant as possible from his beloved.

"We had established," he said in a low whisper, mindful of people sleeping in the bunk above, "that you were on the cathedral steps on the night in question, having taken a quantity of laudanum. Now, what I wish to ask you is this. Did you see my nephew?"

"I ain't quite sure what I saw, truth be told, for I'd drunk that much of the sleepy juice I weren't in much of a state."

"Stop prevaricating."

"All right, all right. I did see that young feller, the blond boy what gave me the money."

"And was he alone?" Jasper leant forward eagerly. At his sleeve, he felt Rosa's fingers curl around, holding on as if in preparation for a shock. He put one hand over them.

"Yes, he was alone."

"And can you recall in which direction he might have gone? Or perhaps you spoke?"

"We did speak, for another young man had left the place a few minutes before, a little dark chappie, foreign looking."

"Neville Landless," muttered Jasper. "Go on."

"Young Ned, for it was him, makes to go past me and follow the other young man, but I put out me hand and stops him. 'Don't go home,' I says to him. He looks down and then he recognises me and he laughs and says, 'Why, you are still here, and much the worse for wear. I see my three and six was ill-spent.' I puts my hand on his and says, 'Not so ill-spent, lad, not so. For I can save you an evil fate tonight.' Well, he don't take me serious, of course, and he shakes his head and makes to walk off. But then I said, 'Have you seen your uncle tonight?'"

Jasper's fingers tightened around Rosa's and his breath seemed to stick in his lungs, neither rising nor falling.

"Why did you say that? How did you know he was my Ned? He could have been any Edward or Edwin or Edmund."

"I knew right enough, my dear. I'd heard him spoke of many a time, and not just by you, in the thick of your wicked dreaming. I knew what you had in mind for him, for you spoke it over and over in this very room."

"I did?"

She nodded, and her knowing smile brought a crushing weight of guilt down on Jasper.

"It was a dream. It was not…"

"You wanted him dead, lovey. Didn't you? So's you could have this little thing here?"

Jasper swallowed hard. "I didn't do it," he whispered.

"I know you didn't, dearie."

"You know?"

"If I'm to tell you, you must promise you won't tell another living soul."

"But if it's a crime…if it's…"

"Promise me. Promise me or get out."

"Just promise her," urged Rosa.

He nodded unwillingly. "You have my word."

"Listen, then, and you'll find out how I know you didn't end that poor young lad's life."

He exchanged a horrified, staggered look with Rosa. For all that the excitement of being finally close to the truth made his heart pound, he dreaded the woman's testimony. What on earth could she know about Edwin's death?

"He said to me, 'My uncle? What do you know of him?' I said, 'Ain't he the choirmaster here?' and that puts the wind up him. 'Why, yes, he is. How could you know that?' I tell him straight that you and I have a business arrangement, and he ain't so surprised as I expect, for it seems he knows you've been drinking down the laudanum like it's elderflower cordial."

"He brought me the bottle when I was indisposed."

"So he was inclined to believe me after all. And then I says, 'I shouldn't go back to his home tonight, my dear. I should be giving that uncle of yours a wide berth.' He laughs it off at first, but I can see he's troubled in his mind. 'Take a step with me,' I says. 'I have a friend who will shelter you tonight.' We walk along the lane together and he means to go back to your gatehouse, but by the time we're close, I've convinced him that you mean him harm, and he comes with me to my friend's little cottage."

"Is this true?" Jasper demanded. "He went to a house that night?"

"Yes. He was a little tipsy, you see, and she had a good bottle of port open for the Christmas Eve and he fancied a taste of it. He came in and we toasted young Rosa here and he told us of his broken heart and he even wept a little, poor fellow, though I think 'twas more the drink than the sentiment driving the tears on."

"Oh, poor Eddy," murmured Rosa, and Jasper saw how pale she was, alabaster in the room's drab light.

"I'm afraid he got quite drunk, for I didn't touch a drop and my friend was trying to keep a sober head about her. I was asleep before he finished drinking."

"So what happened to him?"

"I woke up next morning – Christmas morning – in the chair. My friend was fast asleep and young Ned lay on the hearth rug. He had a pipe in his hand. He was dead."

Both Jasper and Rosa drew in a breath and clutched at each other.

"Dead? But how?" pleaded Rosa, her voice trembling.

"Seems my friend showed him, when he was deep in his cups, how to smoke an opium pipe. And after she fell asleep, he must have made himself another. But it was too strong, my dears. Much too strong. And his poor clean young body couldn't take it."

"He overdosed," said Jasper. "Oh dear God, he was killed by the very drug…oh dear God."

"Oh, Eddy," sobbed Rosa. "If he hadn't been so overset by my breaking off the engagement…"

"You shan't blame yourself," said Jasper, putting a finger to her lips. "I won't hear of it. You did not put that pipe in his hand. Though we have only _her_ word for it that any of this happened at all." He glared at Princess Puffer, whose chest swelled with indignation.

"It's as true as I'm sitting 'ere," she insisted. "A dreadful accident. That poor boy."

"What did you do with him? For I suppose you must have disposed of his body somehow?"

"We was all in a panic, you can imagine. The poor lad dead, and from opium what we'd given him. We didn't want no trouble. We wrapped him in an old carpet and put him in the cellar."

"And…he is still there now?"

She shrugged.

"Then you must give us your friend's name and address. We must go there."

"You gave me your word."

"Do you expect me to stand idly by and do nothing while my nephew's remains…"

"You ain't the only person who counts in this."

The stridency of her words silenced Jasper, who simply stared.

"I'm going to tell you a story now, dearie, and I don't want interrupting, not till I'm done. I promised I never would tell this, but it seems tonight's a night for breaking silences and promises. I'll break this silence once, and never again, and hope she'll forgive me."

Rosa and Jasper exchanged consternated looks, but Jasper nodded his assent to the woman's terms and she began.

"There was once, ever such a long time ago, back in the last years of the old century, a pretty girl called Caroline. She was from a good family – not high and mighty, by any means, but her father was a military man, and they lived comfortably enough in Clerkenwell. Her mother was a devout woman, very strict, and she kept Caroline shut away from the world. Excepting Sundays, for church, she never left the house. Well, the poor girl grew up never seeing or knowing a man except her own father, so you can imagine, she was curious."

"It sounds like the Nuns' House," remarked Rosa.

"I think her mother wanted her to become a nun. Catholic lady, she was. But Caroline was never going to enter a convent, especially after a certain young gentleman caught her eye in church. Well, Caroline would creep out to meet him of an evening until one day nobody could turn a blind eye to the way her dresses didn't fit her any more and she was sent away to stay with an old aunt in the country."

"Oh dear," said Rosa. "She was with child."

"Is this to the purpose?" asked Jasper impatiently.

"You said you wouldn't interrupt. Yes, my dear, she was with child, and only a child herself – fifteen years old."

"What a terrible pity," said Rosa.

"Yes, it was a terrible pity. The baby was a girl, and she stayed out there in the country with the old aunt while Caroline went back home to London. She had a bad time of it there. She missed her child, but she knew she had to forget about her. She'd lost her innocence, too, so she couldn't think as any man would ever want to marry her. Then, in 1815, when Caroline was twenty three, her father fought at Waterloo and he saved the life of a young man there, a captain. The young man's name was Drood."

Rosa held on to Jasper still tighter.

"Caroline's father and Captain Drood became firm friends and he often visited the family in Clerkenwell. It was about a year later that he proposed to Caroline."

"He had a wife before my sister?" Jasper frowned, shaking his head. "I did not know…"

"No, I daresay you didn't. Drood married Caroline because he knew she was desperate. She was down, and she'd started taking opium. She got it off me – I was her neighbour back then, in Clerkenwell, and was new to the business, dabbling in it, I suppose you could say."

"Why would Drood want to marry a desperate woman?"

"Because that's the kind of man he was. He hated women, but he wanted one around to bully. He used to get drunk and beat her and all the while everyone thinking what a saint he was to take on damaged goods."

"My sister never mentioned…"

"Never mind your sister. We'll get to her. They lived in London at first and then one night, a year or so after they married, they had a terrible to-do and she ran off. She came to stay with me – had to hide, she did, so her family wouldn't see her and tip _him_ off. I kept her in my back room, all quiet and secret, for a good few months. I had a regular client, an Italian man from Saffron Hill, a musician, who took a shine to her, and she to him. I turned a blind eye to it. Who was I to judge? Nature took its course and she fell for another child."

"Oh dear," sighed Rosa. "She is very unfortunate. But perhaps the Italian man took care of her?"

"No, my dear, he didn't. He was a slave to the opium and in no position to take care of anyone. He went back to Italy when he found out. And then, shortly before her time came, her parents found out she'd been next door all this time and Drood came thundering up, swearing up and down that he'd kill her and kill the babe and kill the man who fathered it."

"Edwin's father?" said Rosa in a tone of wonder. "I'm rather glad he died before I had a chance to know him."

"We managed to chase him off, with the help of some of my friendly local ruffians. She said, no matter what, she would never go back to him. She was so fierce that night, my poor Caro. Then a month later, the child was born – a boy. And what we did – we told everyone Caroline had died in childbed. We even got a bent quack to sign a certificate. We showed it to Drood and her parents, and they took the child, and then she fled away to where her daughter was living. Cloisterham."

Jasper could not speak. He perceived, dimly, that his hands were shaking.

"Of course, she couldn't go near the girl, for her aunt, though very old now and nearly deaf, would see that she was alive. But she wanted to be close to her and she guessed, correctly as it happens, that her son would soon be living there too."

"With aunt Hetty," whispered Jasper.

"Yes, with aunt Hetty, who died when you was only quite a little boy, I think. And you were still younger when a certain Captain Drood came to call on your sister, claiming to be a friend of her mother's."

"I don't really remember."

"And he married her, when she was only seventeen, because he wanted his revenge. Revenge against a dead woman, by marrying her daughter."

"He never liked me," said Jasper slowly. His voice sounded thick and unnatural. "When aunt Hetty died he made me go to the choir school. I lived there, in the holidays as well as the term time, and I thought I had no family at all, save Meg. But my mother…"

"She was still alive. And it near enough killed her that she couldn't tell you, but like she said to me often enough, 'What kind of mother can I be?' She was lost to the opium by then and she got the money for it on the Chatham Dock Road."

"Oh God, she was a whore? Is? A whore?"

"She didn't have much choice, dearie. Needs must. When Captain Drood, may he burn in hell, died, she almost told you. But she was so ashamed of her condition, and you doing so well, teaching at the choir school, that she thought you wouldn't want to know her. She thought you were better off believing her dead. But she started going to the cathedral services after that."

"And…" He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge what felt like a huge impediment. "She lives now?"

"Aye."

"And you still see her?"

"Not often, but sometimes. She is not well now. She has been sorely disappointed in life."

"When I took to opium…"

"It broke her heart, dearie. To see you go the same way she did. I didn't want to sell it to you, but I didn't know it _was_ you to start off with, and then, when I did, I thought you were better off with me than some stranger. For I was there at your birth and I'm like a queer kind of godmother to you."

Jasper could only shake his head. None of this seemed remotely real. He wondered if the opium fumes in the air had brought on a delusion.

"She was so proud of you," said Princess Puffer dreamily, "when you was made choirmaster. And when you offered to act as Edwin's legal guardian after Drood died. And then it all went wrong and you took to the opium and started all that murder talk."

Still he could do nothing but shake his head. His body seemed to act independently of him now, and speech would not come at all.

"That's why I took Edwin to her house that night," she said. "I did it for her sake. Because if she had to see you hang…no, she couldn't see you hang. I could at least spare her that. And the boy was her grandson, after all."

"Jasper," whispered Rosa, and only then did he realise he had gone into a sort of trance and he had no idea how long he had been in it. Her hand was warm on skin that felt icy and clammy. "Perhaps we should go home."

"I've nothing more to say," said Princess Puffer, who was now making herself a pipe. "All I want to do now is take my thoughts away and let them fly out of this sad world for a little while."

"We'll take our leave then," said Rosa. She had stood and she was plucking at his elbow, trying to pull him to his feet. All at once, his bodily faculties returned and he stood, too quickly, so that his head spun.

"Oh dear, you do look dreadful," Rosa clucked, dragging him through the door. He looked back at Princess Puffer all the while, as if willing her to unsay the words she had spoken, to wind back time and make everything equal. But none of that happened, and the door closed behind them, leaving only the cold reality of the rickety stairs and the foul entrance passage.

"You are not well," she said timidly in the cab on the way home. "All these revelations…"

"I will be well," he said, clearing his throat, not quite recognising his voice still. "I have grown used to being nobody's child from nowhere, and now…"

"I do not know who to pity more," said Rosa.

"Do not pity me!"

"I mean your mother. Or Edwin."

"Perhaps," he said, steadying himself, "it is all lies."

"Oh, surely not. Dreadfully elaborate, if so."

"I must see her."

"Oh, Jasper. I will come with you."

"Whether I let you or not," he said dryly, a trace of humour returning to his speech.

"Whether you let me or not," she confirmed, with a rueful smile.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Cloisterham on a misty November late morning, the cathedral bells ringing through the damp air. The choir hurries across the Close from the song school, a disorderly crocodile, pushing and shoving their way to the vestry. At their head, an anxious-looking youth ignores the horseplay while the gentlemen taking up the rear of the procession frown and mutter to each other.

A pair of travellers watches from the cathedral steps.

"He should nip that in the bud," mutters the gentleman.

"He is very young," the lady offers by way of mitigation.

"So was I."

Jasper and Rosa, for of course it is they, descend the steps and walk onwards, arm in arm.

"They were frightened of you, I expect," said Rosa.

"No, I believe that was only you."

"For you didn't have any wicked designs on the choristers, I suppose."

"Only on you, my love." Jasper came to a halt by the gatehouse and gazed up at the window.

It was shuttered. The whole building looked blank and disused, its old stone walls slimy from the mist.

"You are remembering things," said Rosa with a tiny shiver.

"None of them worth the remembrance," he said.

He turned to face her.

"I must go now. I must meet her alone."

Rosa nodded. "I understand. Where shall I wait for you?"

"You could pay a call on Miss Twinkleton."

Rosa grimaced.

"Oh, must I?"

"She will be delighted to see you, I am sure. And you can tell her about the wedding."

"Oh, now you have tempted me. I think I must, in order to see the look on her face. How astonished she will be!"

"I fear the shock may be a little too strong for her constitution. Have a care," warned Jasper, bending to kiss her a temporary farewell.

Rosa grasped his hands and held them tight, making the kiss linger so that Jasper felt the full measure of her love and fear for him.

It still seemed too good to be true, he thought, watching her turn and trip away towards the Nuns' House. She loved him. Perhaps even as much as he loved her.

He put fingers to his lips, feeling the warmth and sweetness of her on them, and thought of last night, after their return from Limehouse. How she had insisted on coming to his bed, regardless of the Crisparkles next door, and holding him through the dark and wakeful hours. Only one thing could have made him forget his spinning head, and she had known what it was, giving herself freely to him, until the pleasure of his body overrode the torment of his soul.

He had wanted to stay inside her forever.

But they had had to disconnect eventually, and think about practicalities and what to tell the Crisparkles, who had been much discombobulated by their sudden departure.

All the same, the comfort and safety of being in her arms had stayed with him and fortified him through the journey, like wine in his bloodstream. And now he needed that borrowed strength more than ever. Now he had to decide how he felt about being no longer an orphan. About having not one but possibly two living parents.

Had his father felt love for his mother, the way he did for Rosa, he wondered, walking slowly along the High Street. Or had he simply used her body, like a scoundrel? Not that he hadn't done the same thing on occasion, he realised, with a twinge of conscience. In his younger days, of course, for what boy of eighteen or twenty has the sense and judgement to think beyond the stiffness of his prick? Thank goodness no smaller Jaspers had been the unfortunate result of his youthful rushes of blood. As far as he knew.

"You are unworthy of her," he whispered to himself, stopping by the window of the jeweller. The display reminded him that he had yet to purchase a wedding ring, and he went inside to make the necessary transaction.

With the box in his pocket, he felt stronger still, and finally equal to negotiating the emotionally treacherous waters ahead of him. He put back his shoulders, held up his head and strode confidently to the end of the street, where the shops turned to cottages and the cottages eventually straggled into country road, at the side of which a row of lopsided hovels stood, housing the lowest class of tenant.

It was to one of these that he turned his steps. Of course, perhaps it wasn't the place at all, but from what Princess Puffer had said, it seemed by far the most likely address.

He knocked at the first door he came to and waited until a wizened old man answered the door, pipe in hand.

"Excuse me," said Jasper. "I am looking for a lady called Caroline. I wonder if you know of such a person?"

"'Er down two doors, is it? You ain't her usual class of customer, mind."

Jasper fought back the impulse to smack the side of the old man's head.

"I'm her son," he said coldly.

The man laughed wheezily. "That beats all," he said. "Gent like you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, letting your own mother live that life."

"We've never met," he said.

"You must've met at least the _once_. 'Ere, I recognise you. Didn't you work up at the cathedral?"

"Never mind that. Two doors down, you say? Good day."

He tipped his hat and hurried along the rough planks that connected the houses in lieu of a path. Her cottage was the middle of the row of five. Rags obscured the window, one pane of which was patched up with newspapers. The door was full of dents where it had been kicked. Customers? Debt collectors? Opium dealers?

Jasper shuddered and blinked back a tear, more unsettled than he expected by the state of the place.

He raised his knuckles to rap on the scarred wood, noticing the wizened man was still leering at him from his doorway.

"She won't be up yet," he advised. "Sleeps till four or five, that one. She'll think you're the landlord, come for rent."

Ignoring the unwanted commentary, he knocked sharply on the door.

The man chuckled when, after several such attempts, there was still no reply. Jasper went instead to the window and knocked on that, then called her name.

"Caroline! Please answer the door. I am not here for money, nor anything but to talk to you."

He heard a stirring on the other side of the glass, but still nobody answered the door.

"Do you hear me?" he called, then he played a last, rather desperate card. "Mrs Drood?"

More movement, creaking and thudding, came to his ear and then the door opened a crack.

"You speak of my daughter, dead these ―"

The low, hoarse voice faltered and broke off.

"Twenty years," whispered Jasper, finishing the sentence.

He watched as the crack in the doorway widened, revealing a petrified, skeletal scarecrow of a woman.

"It's you," she said. "It's really you. Back from the dead."

Looking more closely at her, Jasper realised with a start of shock that he recognised her. He had seen her in the cathedral, had once even moved her on when he found her begging on the steps. Her words at the time flew back into his memory, hideously vivid. "Forgive me, sir, but 'tis the opium. Such wicked, wicked stuff. You must never touch it yourself." It was shortly after he had started visiting Princess Puffer. _She had known. She had tried to save him._

One night she had even knocked on his door and, when he answered, begged his pardon and thought she must have the wrong address. And all the while he had thought there was something familiar in her face, that she had a look of his dead sister. But Meg had been beautiful and this woman…was not. Not any more, though her delicate cheekbones and glassy grey eyes hinted at past glories.

"May I come in?"

"It isn't much. I'm a little ashamed…"

"Don't fret. I have lived the life of an addict myself and I am familiar with the disorder of it." He offered an anxious little smile.

"Oh, my poor boy," she said, and then he had to swallow hard and make a determined step forward, past the wraith-like form leaning on the door jamb and into her dark and cramped downstairs room.

"You know me, then?" she said, still staring at him, thunderstruck.

"You are my mother." It was a word he had spoken so rarely, it sounded like any other common noun to his ears. Bottle, shoe, forebear.

"I don't deserve to be called so. Call me rather the woman who brought you into the world. You have every reason to hate me."

He shook his head, his throat too tight to emit sound.

"How have you found out? No, do not answer. There is only one other living soul who could have told you. She promised me she never would…"

"Do not blame her too harshly. I made her tell me."

"Sit down, do, dearest. Shall I get you some…oh, I'm not sure I have any…"

She had indicated a sort of sofa that had no legs but sat on the floor like a mattress with arms, most of its covering ripped off with the horsehair innards leaking through. Jasper brushed off some loose remnants of tobacco and sat gingerly, his legs sprawling out before him. His mother busied herself with pouring some dregs from a brown bottle into a wooden receptacle scarcely bigger than a thimble.

"I'm low on glassware," she said apologetically, handing him the tiny cup.

She seemed to be low on everything, he observed, looking around the shadowy, bare little room.

"What is it?" He frowned at the beverage, finding its smell unfamiliar.

"A foreign spirit, I don't rightly know."

From one of her sailors. Jasper had to put it down on the floor, a rush of nausea taking him in its grip. As he did so, she dropped on to her haunches in front of him, the look of wonder on her face compelling him to return it.

"I thought you were gone," she said in an intense whisper. "May I…would you mind very much if I…may I touch you?"

Now she was so close, the resemblance was obvious. Her eyes, her nose, the shape of her face. She was almost all grey now, but a few streaks of mid-brown hair remained. She had had Meg's colouring. He was darker than both of them for which, he supposed, his Italian blood must account.

He held out his hand and she grasped it in bony fingers, holding it, putting it to her cheek and bathing it in sudden unstemmable tears.

"I was sure you were dead," she sobbed. "You looked worse than I do, last time I saw you. I was always watching you, you know, always."

"I know," he said.

"Last time I held this hand it was so tiny, such a tiny thing, wrapped around my finger…" She couldn't speak any more, rocking back and forth, holding Jasper's hand as if letting go of it would break her apart.

_No tears_, he told himself sternly. _No tears from you. You are a regular fountain of late. Hold yourself in check._ But he had to put the heel of his free hand to his eyes and press it down quite firmly to keep his resolution.

He concentrated on mastering his breathing, as he had been so used to doing in his singing days. After half a minute or so he was able to speak again.

"You could have told me," he said. "I would not have turned you away."

She shook her head. "No young man wants a mother like me, holding him back, making him an object for gossips. You would never have been made choirmaster if they'd know your mother was a…what she was."

"I would not have cared," he said. "Don't you see? I had nobody in the whole world. To have had somebody…it would have meant everything to me. It would have meant I was not alone." He stopped. _Breathe, Jasper, breathe._ "I was always alone. I considered myself an outcast. I meant nothing to anyone."

"You always meant the world to me, if you'd but known."

"But I didn't know. I only knew that I was a burden on Meg and Captain Drood, and a wicked child to aunt Hetty, and the gipsy changeling to the boys at school."

"Gipsy changeling?"

"It's what they called me."

"I had hoped that Meg would take care of you and you could have a happy life together, sister and brother. But then that vicious bastard, forgive my language…Oh, the world is a cruel place. I wish I had been able to shelter you from it."

"You could not shelter yourself. It was not your fault. I lay no blame for anything that has happened to me at your door."

"You forgive a foolish, wicked woman as only meant to give you a better start in life than she could offer?"

"I believe I do. And I have never been a forgiving man, and perhaps had we met only a year ago I would have been bitter and wrathful, but my circumstances of late have changed me. I have been handed a chance to live again. I have taken it."

"You are looking so well, my darling. So much better."

"It is possible to wean oneself off the opium."

She shook her head. "Oh, it's too late for me, my dearest, much too late now. I don't have long left to me. My lungs won't last much beyond Christmas."

"Do not say so. Now that I have found you, you must stay in this world with me a while longer."

She smiled through fresh tears. "I would like to. But I don't think it's His plan. As long as I know you are well, I can die happy. It's a lot more than I'd counted on."

"Don't talk of death. I have determined that you shall live, and so you shall. The future may be a better place for us both."

"When you left town, where did you go? I looked for your name in the death notices every day and thought you must have stumbled into the sea…"

"I went to London. The place where I was born, though I have only a scrap of birth certificate with one name on it to say so."

"My name. And you thought me dead."

"You did not use the name Drood on my birth certificate."

"You know about my ill-starred marriage?"

"Yes. And you must have known that Meg's marriage was bigamous! And yet you said nothing. Surely to have watched her marry that man…"

"Oh, don't recall it. Don't make me think of it. It was the very worst day of my life."

"She was happy with him."

"Was she?"

"As far as I know. I was only eleven when she died, but she seemed quite content with her lot. I think after the child was born, he treated her well. And he was abroad most of the time anyway."

"The child."

A brief flicker of sheer terror crossed her face and Jasper remembered that the purpose of his visit had not been mere reunion.

"Yes. Edwin," he said.

And now his mother could not look him in the eye. She turned away, glancing desperately over at the empty bottle, as if willing a distraction to present itself.

"His bones lie here, don't they?" said Jasper. He tapped his fingers against her cheek, making her face him once more. Her eyes were downcast, her knuckles white with tension.

She nodded.

"I never meant him harm," she said.

"I know. It was an accident."

"Janey said you meant to kill him."

"Janey? The opium dealer?"

"Don't you know her name?"

He shook his head.

"I had a dream," he explained. "I dreamt of killing him. Whether or not I meant to…" He shrugged.

"Killing that poor boy. Your sister's child. How could you think of it?"

And now it was Jasper who could not meet his mother's eye.

"You could have stopped me," he whispered.

"I did stop you. But in the worst way possible. By killing him myself."

"Yours was not the hand…"

"It was the hand that gave him the pipe and showed him how to fill it. It might as well have been the hand in your dream that cut off his breath at the throat."

"You cannot forgive yourself?"

She shook her head.

"He was twenty years old, John. Twenty years old with all his life ahead of him."

Unused to being called by his given name, Jasper was reminded of another question he meant to ask.

"What was my father's name?"

She sat back then and a reminiscent glaze passed over her eyes.

"Oh, you have a look of him, you know? Though how could you, never having seen him. Your hair – it is his to the life. And he was a singer too."

"Was he?"

"With a touring opera company, though he said he'd been in the chorus at the Scala in Milan. He was called Gianni Locatelli and I thought he loved me, but I was a fool, my dearest. Such a fool."

"He fled when he knew that I…?"

"Yes. And it turned out he was married all along."

"Oh."

"But I loved him, John, and I'm glad I knew him, for all the heartache and pain. I'm glad I have loved. And that you are the result of it."

"Truly?"

"Truly. For what if my only knowledge of love had been that childish fancy that gave Meg to me, and then that bitter time with that bitter man? Gianni was my only love, and he gave you to me. I can't hate him for that."

"But all that followed…?"

"Yes, it's been a weary life and full of heartbreak. I have made terrible mistakes at every pass and, what is worse, my mistakes have made my own children unhappy and placed them in danger. My judgement, when it comes - and it will be soon - will be hard, I am sure. But you are kinder than I ever expected. Too kind."

He was oddly reminded of himself and Rosa on the night they met by the sea. How she had showed him, despite all her acerbic barbs, compassion and forgiveness that he had not felt he had earned.

"Mother, for you _are_ my mother and I will call you so, it is better to be kind than cruel. Do you not think? As your son, I shall hope to make you proud of me."

"Oh, I am proud of you. Just look at you! You have fought opium and won. What man can say he has done the same?"

"I had help. And I want to tell you, mother, that I am happy and will be well. I am to be married."

"You are to be married? Well, this is good news. I shall have a daughter again. What is her name?"

"Rosa."

She blinked. "Rosa? Not…?"

"She who was to have married Ned. At one time."

"Oh no, John, you cannot mean it."

Her appalled face made his heart quicken with fear.

"Why not? Do not tell me there is some horrible secret pertaining to her as well? I will not hear it. You must not tell me, for nothing will stand in the way of my marrying her."

"No, no, there is no secret. But I have only bitter thoughts in my heart for her, for it was she who turned you from my respected choirmaster son to that dark, twisted thing…she ruined you, John. She unmade you."

"But you are wrong, so very wrong. You cannot blame her; she is entirely innocent. Or at least, she was at that time."

"Innocent? She toyed with you and she toyed with my grandson. She gave you enough grounds to think that you could expect success with her. No. I will not accept her as my daughter."

Jasper rose to his feet, swallowing down a nasty retort.

"Then perhaps it is better that I leave," he said. "For if you cannot accept Rosa as my wife, then I cannot accept you as my mother."

"Oh, don't be hasty." His mother stood to and clutched his arm. "Please, dearest. I meant no offence. I know how much you love her. Too much, if you ask me, but you are not asking me. Let us drop the subject, for we cannot agree on it."

"I owe her my life," he said vehemently.

"Then she and I are equal."

"No, not equal," he said, still a trifle coldly, but susceptible to her efforts to pour oil on the troubled waters. "She will always be first in my heart."

"As you are first in mine. Come, don't be cold. Let me hold you. Let me give you the love I never could until now. It might be my last chance."

The pathetic figure she cut, ragged and sparrow-thin, melted the last traces of his anger. He submitted to be embraced by her, finding little of maternal comfort in her sharp bones and tiny stature, but wanting to give it back to her all the same.

"Mother," he whispered, once her tears had soaked through his waistcoat to the shirt beneath. "What are we to do about Ned's body?"


	14. Chapter 14

She blinked up at him, her eyes unseeing with tears.

"Do?" she asked.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Ned's bones lie here, but they cannot stay."

"Why not? I'd thought that, once I am dead, they will be found but I won't be here to be asked questions of, so all will be laid to rest. Isn't it the best way, dearest?"

Jasper could not for the life of him understand how she had lived with the body of her dead grandson for nearly six years and his bemused brow reflected this.

"How do you sleep here?"

"I've had no choice. The opium helps me forget. And there is nowhere else for me to go."

"No, there _was_ not. But there is now. You cannot stay here. You are ill and this place reeks with infectious effusions. What manner of son would I be, to let my own mother pass her last years in this rat nest?"

"There is nowhere else to go," she repeated.

"Indeed there is. There is my home. Mine and Rosa's."

"Oh, no, I cannot…"

"You shall," said Jasper, his determination growing with each moment, despite the sudden and unpreviewed nature of the plan. "We have a great many spare rooms and you will have no more worries with regard to money, no requirement to earn or pay rent. You will return to health and see your grandchildren grow up."

"You speak as if this is possible. But the opium, John, it has me now and it will never give me up. More than thirty years I've been its slave, longer than you've been alive, dearest."

"It can be conquered. It will be. I shall help you. Rosa and I both."

"No, no, it's too late. I'm shaking now for the want of it. I must have my pipe."

"Where is it? I shall take it and throw it on the fire."

"No," she wailed. "No, you must go. You mustn't see me so degraded. Go home, dearest, but promise you will visit me when you can find a moment. Will you promise me?"

"I will do a great deal more than visit. Mother, you _shall_ come to live with us. I insist upon it."

"Your little princess won't think much of that. Come, let me smoke my pipe now. The pains are on me." Her breathing had shortened and she bent, gasping and holding her stomach.

Jasper recalled them so sharply that his own body twinged in sympathy. He knew that nothing could now follow but a madness of need. Even he, the son she had never known and believed dead until this day, could not compete with it.

"I will release you from this," he vowed, the corners of his mouth turning downwards.

But already she was reaching up to the highest of her almost-bare shelves, taking down a battered box and scrabbling inside.

"Go, now, dearest, go," she panted, drawing out her pipe. "I don't like to think of you seeing me… Come away now, do."

He put a hand on her trembling upper arm.

"I shall return," he said in a low and firm voice. "Very soon. And when I do, I will take you away with me."

"That's nice, dear. We must have our dreams, mustn't we?"

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his whiskered cheek with papery lips.

"And seeing you again is a dream come true," she whispered. "Look in on your old mother from time to time."

"I have told you," he said, trying his best to be patient. "I mean to do much more than that. But I must discuss it first with Rosa. I will be back in a day or two, at the very most. Please take care of yourself. And do not…"

He reached inside his coat for his pocketbook and shook out a sovereign. He well knew what it would be spent on, but as long as it kept her off the Chatham Dock Road he did not care.

"Do not put yourself in harm's way," he enjoined her, holding the coin out in his palm.

She clutched the pipe to her chest and burst into fresh tears.

"Oh, it's not right that you should have to…it's not right that you should know such things of your own mother."

"There, there, don't take on." He took her awkwardly into his arms again and rested his chin on her head. "I do not judge you. I am your son and my place is to love and care for you, in any way I can."

"You have no obligation to me. I was derelict in my duty to you."

"The past is gone. Let us look to the future now."

"Oh, to think of having a future." She looked up at him again and shook her head. "I never expected it."

He kissed her forehead.

"Smoke your pipe if you must. I should go and fetch Rosa before she frets."

The mention of her name brought a flicker of sourness to Caroline's face and her fingers tightened around the pipe.

"I hope that girl's worthy of you, that's all."

"All mothers hope so of their sons' wives, such is nature's way. But she is more than worthy. You have my solemn word. Do we have your blessing?"

"If she loves you. If she truly loves you, the way you deserve to be loved, the way you never were except by me in secret, then yes. But go now, dearest. I must light my pipe."

He grasped her free hand in a gesture of parting then ducked below the sagging lintel of the front door and found himself breathing in clean air again. Throughout the interview, he had been afflicted by a kind of creeping, horrid feeling that settled about his bones, which he attributed to the pressing presence of that other set of bones so close at hand. It had been his intention to ask to go into the cellar, to see them for himself, but his courage had failed him at the last.

Eventually, though, he would have no choice. If his mother was to move away from that woeful shack, the bones would have to be moved and decently interred. The puzzle lay in how to do it without provoking curiosity.

He pondered this conundrum all the way up the High Street to the Nuns' House. So absorbed was he that he barely noticed the raised eyebrows and looks of surprised recognition as he passed them by. Only an audible gasp and loud whisper of "The opium fiend!" shook him out of his trance.

He looked back to see two former Nuns' House girls, who squealed and took to their heels when they saw that they were overheard. Perhaps, he mused, they were friends of Rosa's. He should chase after them and invite them to the wedding.

The thought of their reaction lightened his mood and his step was determined as he walked across the lawn to the Nuns' House. Rosa was at the open door before he was halfway along the path, having presumably seen him from the window. By the time he reached her, Miss Twinkleton had appeared at her shoulder, her mouth set in a very tight straight line.

"Miss Twinkleton," he said, tipping his hat politely.

"Mr Jasper," she said, as primly as he had ever heard his name spoken. "Astonishing. Absolutely astonishing."

"Thank you for a lovely luncheon, Miss Twinkleton," said Rosa. "I must rush or we will lose the train." Although this was not true, the urgency in her eyes persuaded Jasper to take up the theme.

"Ah, indeed, regrettably so," he said, taking Rosa by the elbow and drawing her away from the indignant spinster.

Rosa waved back, all smiles, then turned away, hissing, "Thank God," under her breath.

"I have released you from an ordeal?" asked Jasper, patting her fingers as they clung to his forearm.

"Suffice to say that she does not approve of our match. Vociferously and repetitively. I feel like St George, having fought twenty rounds with the dragon."

Jasper laughed and looked back at the house before stealing a swift kiss.

"Then I am the helpless bound maiden," he said. "I do not feel suited to the role."

"But never mind that. What of your visit? Did you see…?"

"I did not go into the cellar," said Jasper, shaking his head, instantly sombre once more. "But she says that the bones are still there. We must remove them."

"Where will they go? For how can we bury them decently? We can hardly dig a grave behind the cathedral and hope to go unnoticed."

"I don't know," confessed Jasper. "Perhaps the sea…"

"Oh, the sea." Rosa's face crumpled and she put a hand to her face.

"I did not mean to put you in mind of…"

"No, no, you are right. It is the best place. It is fitting."

He held her close until she gathered herself, her bonnet crushed against his chin.

"I am sorry," she said, stepping back while curious onlookers walked slowly past the Nuns' House wall. "The dead cannot come back. But what of the living? What of your mother?"

"My mother is not well," he said gently. "And her dwelling place is so mean, it is making her condition worse. I have invited her to live with us."

Rosa blinked and stared.

"You mean – at our house?"

"I do mean that."

"You might have asked me."

"Do you object to the scheme?"

"As it happens, I think I do. I have never met the lady and besides, she is an opium addict."

"Rosa, she is my mother."

"She abandoned you."

"She did what she thought best."

"It wasn't best, though, was it? It was best for her, but not for you."

"What was her alternative, Rosa? To go with me back to Drood? Do you think he would have had me in his house, passed me off as his son? Being the kind of man he was? He would have had me dumped on the workhouse steps. I think she provided a better future for me than _that_."

Jasper paused for breath, his face hot and temper high. It would not do to get too angry with Rosa. He must control himself, but he couldn't deny that her words had disappointed him.

"She could have gone to live with that aunt of yours. Then she could have been with her children."

"Drood would have made her go back. She was terrified of him."

"And yet neither Edwin nor your sister ever mentioned this apparently violent and cruel streak of Captain Drood's."

"Are you suggesting she has fabricated this story?"

"Perhaps she just didn't want to be saddled with a marriage and children. Perhaps she was just tired of being at the beck and call of a stupid man. And she has my sympathy in that."

"Rosa!"

But she had turned on her delicately-booted heel and flounced off in the direction of the railway station.

He hurried in her wake, catching up with her and taking up her wrist.

"Do not turn your back on me," he growled. "I will not have it."

"Most likely, though," she said, visibly intimidated but fighting her nervousness, "most likely of all is that she chose opium over you. And a person who would do that is not a person I want to share my residence with."

Rosa's words were like a bucket of cold water over him, dousing the small hopes he had allowed himself.

Of course she was right. He recognised the creature she described from his own past. He had become a man who would sell anything, do anything for opium. And that was what his mother was.

"Don't you see it, Jasper," she said, less vehemently now, but no less earnestly. "She will break your heart all over again. She will steal from us and give it all to that woman in Limehouse. She will go missing for days on end. She will swear that she has changed and eschewed the opium and it will all be false."

"But Rosa," he said. "You forgave me. I was no better than her. You gave me a chance."

"That was because I love you," she said, putting her fingers on his cheek. "And so is this. I love you and I cannot bear to think of you being hurt by her."

"Do you know," he said, drawing an unsteady breath, "she said the very same thing about you."

"About _me_?" Rosa's obvious umbrage brought the hint of a smile to his lips. "Why, without me you would be dead!"

"She does not know that."

"Then perhaps you should tell her, instead of letting her go on thinking of me as some kind of…of…"

There could be no further speech, as Jasper had taken her by the back of the neck and pulled her unceremoniously into a kiss of such raw hunger that their surroundings disappeared from consciousness, replaced only by passion. One gloved hand held her neck while the other arm was wrapped around her waist, anchoring her tight against him. If she had any concerns about making a public scene, she did not display them.

Dimly, just before breaking apart, Jasper became aware of the clucking tongues of passers-by, but they were of no moment to him. Nothing mattered but the flushed cheek of his beloved, the swift rise and fall of her bosom as she cast her eyes down to the ground and murmured, "Jasper!"

"Nobody is more important to me than you are," he said fiercely. "Nobody."

"I know," she whispered. "But sometimes you should think of yourself too. Protect yourself and your heart."

"She is my mother," he repeated. "But I have no wish to discuss this further in the street. We should return to London before the dark falls. The Crisparkles expect us for dinner."

He began to walk with her swiftly up the street, dispersing the knots of curious onlookers who had shadowed them while they kissed.

In their railway compartment, he drew down the shades and stood against them, smiling faintly down at her as she sat, all neat and prim, on the seat, clutching her bag in her lap. The train jerked into motion and he held tighter to the door handle.

She looked up at him.

"Aren't you going to…sit down…?" Her voice tailed off. She had gauged his intent. "Jasper, we are on the train."

"With the compartment to ourselves."

"The ticket collector…"

"What of him?"

Jasper sat down beside her and put her bag beyond her reach.

"After I kissed you out there," he said, taking up her hands, "I wanted to suggest that we forget about going back to London. I wanted to suggest that we check into the Railway Arms, take a room there, spend the night together without fear of discovery by anybody."

He put his arm around her shoulders and angled her towards him. His free hand slid down, stroking her skirts, trying to find the shape of her thigh beneath the layers. There were many, thick and stout against the November chill too, but they could not entirely disguise the soft flesh under the petticoats.

"They would know we were not married," she pointed out, but she was making no effort to throw him off, so he persisted, drawing up the top layer of her skirts.

"But would they?" he whispered into her ear. He raised his hand briefly to remove the ring box from his inner pocket.

"Oh! You have bought a wedding ring. But don't take it out. I mustn't see it yet."

"Why not?"

"No," she protested, twisting her face away from him, pushing his hand back. "It will bring ill luck."

He replaced the box and made her turn her neck back towards him with a hand in her hair.

"You believe in these superstitions?" he said.

"I just don't like to tempt fate, that's all."

"Come, there is no such thing as fate. You and I have proven it so."

"Have we?"

"Unless fate has perhaps placed us in each other's way. In which case, I will accord it some measure of respect. But I don't think that was fate. I think we both had a hand in it? Didn't we?"

Jasper's own hand was now lifting the uppermost petticoat, his finger and thumb rubbing the linen between them.

"I did not mean to be so cross about your mother coming to stay," she said. "But it seems so hard to me, when you and I finally have our chance of happiness. Perhaps I am selfish but I do not want it spoiled by anyone, no matter who."

He bunched the fabric up in his fist, raising it over her knees and brought her head to rest on his shoulder, brushing her neck and the unruly curls that spilled over it with his fingertips.

"That's understandable."

"The future was looking so wonderful. I don't want it to alter. I don't want a third person in our house. I want it to be just you and me."

Jasper was certainly susceptible to this line of argument. He himself had previewed a delightful honeymoon period, he and Rosa alone in the empty house, all lessons cancelled for a month, while they disported themselves in every room and in every possible configuration.

"Believe me, my love, that is precisely what I want too," he said, lifting the petticoat higher, rubbing the thigh beneath its reduced covering. "But I'm her son and she is dying."

"Is she?" Rosa lifted her face.

"She is almost wasted entirely away. Her lungs, to borrow the evocative words of Princess Puffer, are like cabbage nets. She needs medical care. At the very least, she needs a place to live that isn't a noisome hovel."

"Could we at least have some time to ourselves after the wedding?"

Jasper kissed the top of her head, grateful for this shift in her previously entrenched position.

"Yes, of course. We deserve a honeymoon, even if I can't afford to take you to Italy at present. But one day I shall."

"How odd that you should have always wanted to visit Italy," said Rosa dreamily. "I wonder if your Italian parentage was making its influence felt."

"Perhaps it was," said Jasper, wondering again for the fiftieth time if his father lived, and what he would think of his illegitimate son. He stooped and whipped up the remaining petticoats, making her squeal and kick your legs.

"I think it might account for your terribly hot blood," she exclaimed, shortly before he stopped up her mouth with his.

Unfortunately the ticket collector chose that very moment to pull open the door and their passions had to be subdued until they reached London. But Jasper was quite sure they would not be kept down for long. For tomorrow was their wedding day.


	15. Chapter 15

From his position at the altar rail, Jasper craned his neck around to the door for the fifteenth time. For the fifteenth time, only empty pews and organ pipes met his eye.

A reassuring hand fell on his shoulder.

"She will be here, Jasper. This fog delays the traffic."

Crisparkle was right. The short notice of the wedding had meant he had had to choose a church rather distant from Rosa's home, on the western border of the registration district, in Soho. It was a complicated journey through thronged morning streets and he and Crisparkle had almost got lost in the fog several times themselves.

He had never thought that his wedding day might fall in a foggy November, or take place in Soho, a place where, as a younger man, he had occasionally picked up a girl or two at various seedy dance halls. He had imagined, in the past, kneeling with Rosa on the altar stone in Cloisterham Cathedral while his choir sang a jubilant Te Deum.

And yet, now it came down to it, the setting and the surrounds were of scant interest to him. All that mattered was that Rosa should come here and give him her hand and consent to be his wife.

"She may have decided against it," muttered Jasper. "Perhaps she feels we have been too hasty. You do have the ring?"

"Yes, Jasper, I still have the ring, just as I did a minute ago, last time you asked. Do calm yourself."

He plucked at his necktie as if he thought it might throttle him. His neck was damp inside the linen collar. That done, his fingers were idle, which was not to be borne. He settled them on the altar rail and, without being aware of it, began playing compulsive and silent scales. The vicar looked on indifferently.

Jasper was interrupted in his fidgeting by the heavy clank of the church door. He spun around and saw Helena Crisparkle hurry in. For one excruciating moment he thought she had come to tell him that Rosa had changed her mind.

But then Helena turned and waited for somebody behind her. Somebody who must be…

Yes, she was here. Carrying a little posy of hothouse blooms, dressed not in white but in a winter gown of deep green satin trimmed with gold, her hair threaded with gold ribbon, his bride gave him one radiant look and then turned her head away.

"Turn around, Jasper," hissed Crisparkle, taking his elbow. "Stand tall and look ahead."

He put back his shoulders, unable to contain his broad smile or the fierce pounding of his heart. She was here and he was now the happiest man alive.

He was able to savour every little staging post on the ceremonial route to connubial bliss. The way she said "I will," – with a determined little thrust of her chin. The way her hand clung tight when placed in his by the vicar. Her clearly-spoken vows and the way she looked up at him when he slipped the ring on her finger.

He did not want to release it for the prayer and it was only with reluctance that he dropped her hand and knelt beside her. When the minister finally pronounced them man and wife, he shut his eyes and felt his head swim. The words evoked such a perfect confluence of emotions within his breast – relief, triumph and ecstasy all arched over by love – that he had to stifle a sob. Rosa twined her fingers tightly with his, the cold metal of her ring chilling his skin to delightful effect.

She was his. Now and always. He would never be alone again.

Once the minister had finished droning on about the nature of matrimony and the duties of husbands to their wives and vice versa, once the register was signed and closing benedictions uttered, the foursome were left alone in the church porch.

"Well, congratulations to you both," exclaimed Crisparkle, clapping Jasper on the back, but his words fell on deaf ears, Jasper having taken hold of Rosa around her waist and fastened his lips on hers. The duration of the kiss was such that Crisparkle took to chuckling awkwardly while Helena wondered aloud whether they should hail a cab.

Jasper, however, had no intention of curtailing his first kiss as a married man, and Rosa appeared to be of one mind with him. _One mind and one flesh_, he thought with a little shiver of thrill. The wedding night could not come too soon. Indeed, was there any reason why one should not have a wedding afternoon?

Eventually, Rosa pushed at his chest with her palm and broke off, laughing.

"Jasper, anyone would think this was our last opportunity to embrace before parting forever."

Her blush glowed fit to light a path through the fog, but there was a promise in her eyes.

"There shall be no parting henceforth, except by death," he said, still holding her around her waist.

"God has brought you together," said Crisparkle cheerfully, "and now none shall put you asunder. If you are one quarter as happy as me and Helena, you will have a very good marriage. Isn't that so, my love."

He linked his arm with Helena's, as if eager to join in with all the public affection, but Helena held herself modestly apart, clearly aghast at the thought of kissing in broad daylight in a church porch.

"Absolutely so," she said. "But shouldn't we get home? This fog is getting worse."

"I rather thought, my love," demurred Crisparkle, "that we might go and take Neville out for lunch. Give the newlyweds some privacy."

"Oh. Of course." Helena's cheek flushed and she exchanged a quick but piercing look with Rosa. "Neville eats so terribly badly. We must take him to that chop house you noticed by the Inns of Court."

"A capital idea, dearest. Well. Shall we bid you a merry goodbye, Mr and Mrs Jasper? You need not expect us home until supper time."

Jasper, still luxuriating in hearing the words 'Mrs Jasper' spoken of Rosa, simply nodded benignly.

"Are you not going to thank them?" said Rosa, nudging. "Without witnesses, we could not have been legally married. And I could have asked some of the charity's patronesses, but there would have been such gossip…"

"Thank you, yes, thank you," said Jasper hastily, wishing that they would go. "We are much obliged to you."

Crisparkle, apparently perfectly aware that his presence was surplus to requirements, turned and walked with Helena down the steps, intent on hailing a cab.

"Do you like being married?" asked Rosa, waving at Helena when she looked back before disappearing into a mustardy brownish fog.

"Of course," he said, his fingers tightening around her waist. "This is a lovely dress."

"Thank you. I'm glad you like it."

"Lovely as it is, I hope you do not expect to be wearing it for much longer."

"Jasper!"

"Come, we should find a cab. I have a pressing need to take you home."

"To our marital home," said Rosa dreamily, tripping down the steps in his wake.

At pavement level he halted and faced her, suddenly grave.

"It has been your marital home with another husband," he said. "I cannot help but worry that you will always consider yourself his wife, as long as you live in his house."

"Oh, Jasper, I do not. I do not consider myself anybody's wife but yours."

"All the same, I am not settled in that place. I feel his memory intrudes upon us."

Rosa nodded. "I understand. If we had had a child, I would perhaps have formed a stronger attachment, but it is only a house. In the New Year, we will sell it and find a home of our own."

At that moment, a cab rumbled around the corner and Jasper flung his arm in the air to hail it. They returned home, past the silent theatres and dance clubs and the strangely empty streets until they were back in the more respectable environs of Bloomsbury with its tall straight terraces and neat railed-in squares.

At the smart front door, with its little noticed pinned to one panel – 'School to recommence on 1st December' – Jasper bundled Rosa into his arms and lifted her up, waiting for May to admit them.

As soon as the door was open, May was given leave to go home for the rest of the day, and she skipped off without further questions, seeming to know why her presence would not be welcome.

Jasper gave Rosa one look of devastating smoulder, then he bore her onward, to the staircase. At the top, he paused. "Which room? Which room shall be _our_ room?"

Rosa understood what he was really asking.

"The room I have now was where I spent my first wedding night," she said.

"Then it must be another."

"Yours."

"So be it."

He carried her into his room and laid her down on the bed in a rustle and puff of green satin and ribbon, then took a moment to gaze down at his bride.

"I am afraid it is terribly early for a wedding night, just past noon," said Rosa, blushing beneath the intentness of his look.

"I don't agree," he said. "I believe there is an ancient statute recommending that wedding nights commence at noon. Kneel up, Rosa, and let down your hair."

She rose up and put her hands to her intricately bound curls, but before she had withdrawn the first pin, Jasper was behind her, lending assistance. Something about the release of her hair always struck him as erotic – all that tightly-braided, pinned and twisted glory spilling and snaking out of its restraints. He watched each golden ringlet tumble and fall until one shining mass fell over her shoulders, free of its ribbons. He wrapped a thick tress around one fist and lifted it, exposing the back of her neck, which he bent and kissed.

He reached to the bedside table for his buttonhook – for he now possessed such an item, and a finer specimen than the one he had sold for opium – and put it on the bed beside him.

"Down," he muttered, pushing Rosa on to her front and straddling her, his knees pressing into her flanks as if he were on horseback. She resisted him a little, trying to elude his hand, but after a little fuss, she lay docilely, awaiting his next move.

He took the buttonhook and began unbuttoning her, slowly but surely. Where her dress divided and exposed skin, he put his hand, grazing his knuckles downward, following the buttonhook's path. When she was undone to the waist, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed every inch of her neck, her shoulders and finally her mouth.

He continued to undress her in this manner, pausing after each new removal to attend to the newly-discovered parts of her and to hold her and kiss her, each time more ardently than before.

He took everything at such a languid and leisurely pace that, by the time she was down to camisole and drawers, Rosa was urging him onward, trying to position his hands where she most wanted them, but he delighted in teasing her, withdrawing them and placing them where he saw fit.

Now lying on her back, she reached up to grab his necktie and loosen it, but he pounced before she could gain purchase and pinned her wrists to the bed.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Mrs Jasper," he warned her. "Your turn will come."

She twisted and turned her hips, clamped inside his thighs, but there was to be no escape. He held her there, grinning down at her, until she gave up her protest.

"Will you do as you are told?" he asked, eyebrows cocked, knees holding her tight. He hoped he wasn't bruising her wrists, but she seemed to enjoy an element of forceful physicality during their coupling and he supposed she would tell him if she weren't happy.

"It is unfair that you are fully clothed and I am not," she said.

"What has fairness to do with it? Now tell me you will keep still and I will let go your wrists."

"And then what shall you do?"

"Why, I shall relieve you of these unnecessary undergarments, of course."

"But then I shall be quite naked."

"As you should always be. Naked, in my bed. Perhaps I shall keep you here until December."

"Oh, I believe you would too."

Experimentally, he released one wrist and raised a finger.

"Now, recall, Rosa, you have vowed to obey me."

"Humph," she said. "Just as you have vowed to honour me. Are you honouring me?"

"Oh, that word was honour? I thought it was ravish."

He seized her camisole and commenced removing it.

"Just as when I said obey, I thought it was…Jasper!"

The camisole was flung to the floor and he was unable to resist diving on her sweet pink nipples and taking one into his mouth.

Rosa's protest was neither heartfelt nor long-lived. Jasper sensed the tension draining from her body as he lapped and sucked, then growled low with satisfaction when she put her hands in his hair and moaned. He knew how she liked this, how his hot breath and tongue on those stiff round buds made her weaken and open up for him. If he kept this up for long enough, she would not be able to deny him anything.

But he was eager to move on to further realms of delight, so he lifted his head, gave each tight wet nipple a farewell kiss, then moved his devilish hands lower to attend to her drawers. She lifted her bottom to help him and he smiled.

"What shall I do with you, Rosa Bud, now I have you laid bare and at my mercy?"

"I'm sure something will occur to you."

She kicked a little bare foot at him, catching him in the chest. He grasped hold of it by the ankle, held it tight and let the fingertips of his other hand dance across her sole. Instantly, she embarked on a desperate struggle, kicking uselessly and gasping for breath.

"No, no," she squealed. "Not my foot, no."

"If you kick me, you must expect me to defend myself."

She stilled completely at that, a profound change coming over her face. Jasper realised that he had quoted himself, word for word. Only the last time he had said it, they had been in the gatehouse, she with a splinter of glass in her foot, he in wet clothes.

"Oh, my darling, I do love you so much," she said, raising herself on to her elbows. "Please do not tease me more. Please come to me and let me love you."

He nodded, speechless with emotion, and began to unbutton and unclip.

"I wish I had not been so afraid of my feelings, all those years ago," she said, her eyes upon him, taking in the removal of his cufflinks, the falling of his braces over his shoulders, the loosening of his stock.

"Hush, it has all come right now," he said.

"But if I had not been so dishonest with myself, we could have been doing this six years ago."

"You were too young and I was too…mad," he said. "It is better thus."

"All your suffering, though. All our pain."

"It has made us who we are."

The shirt came off, and the trousers too.

"Oh, yes. Yes, in a way it has."

The way her eyes lingered on him once his chest was bare always gave him a shiver of pleasure. She looked positively hungry for him.

He was swift to complete his disrobing and fell into her arms with a sigh of rapture, the sensation of skin on skin always so much better than he remembered.

"I want you to know," whispered Rosa, after a feast of kissing and embracing, "that, whatever I felt for Eddy and Tartar, it was nothing compared to what I feel for you now. You can put away all your jealous thoughts. You will never have to think them again. I am yours, in every way you could ever want."

Jasper, who had stroked her hair throughout this avowal, kissed her deeply once more.

"I know it," he said. "And I shall make every effort to curb my foolishness. You will want for nothing, spiritually, materially or physically, while I am your husband. I shall not allow you to feel a moment's unhappiness. I value you above everything in the world or out of it. I have never loved another and I never will."

It was Rosa who initiated the kissing this time.

"I want to be with you and close to you all the time," she whispered. "Since we first shared a bed, I think of nothing else. I want you inside me."

Her fingers alighted on his manhood and wrapped themselves around its erect shaft. He shut his eyes and let the pleasure bathe him for that one brief moment, then gathered his resolve and acted.

"Yes," he said, removing her fingers and shifting closer until he was above her, rubbing his hard length along her thigh. He tested her state of readiness with one hand and found her perfectly prepared.

She arched her back and clasped her hands around his neck. His cock slid in between her lips, feeling the heat there, the delicious slipperiness. A sense memory of her tightness made his prick throb in anticipation. Oh God. He could have this every night of his life. He _would_ have this every night of his life.

Every night he would slip into that taut little opening and stretch her, just as he was doing now. Every night he would feel her grip, and he would thrust back and forth, letting the friction build to its optimal height. And every night he would see her face, helpless and flushed with desire for him. He would feel her arms around him and see her chest rise and fall and feel her tug at his hair or scratch his back in the extremity of climax.

("My little tiger has claws," he said with a slightly pained laugh.)

And not just this, but so many things he would do with her, until every single thing man could do with woman was done, and then he would start all over again.

And every night he would feel this tug of pleasure slowly spread and expand and take over his entire body until he was afire with it, and then he would empty everything he had into her, fill her with him until she could take no more and he was wrung out entirely.

And finally he would fall asleep in her arms, certain that he had loved, cherished, honoured and kept her as much as he possibly could, and that no man could ever do any of these things better.


	16. Chapter 16

Two days after Boxing Day 1851, John Jasper returned to Cloisterham for what he sincerely hoped might be the final time.

He had prevailed upon his mother to spend Christmas at the Bloomsbury house (and on Rosa to agree to it) and there she was to stay until a new dwelling could be purchased – one, at Rosa's insistence, fully equipped with self-contained basement or attic apartment. ("For we must have our privacy, mustn't we, love?" She had spoken those words whilst bent over a footstool in one of the drawing rooms, skirts and petticoats frothing about her waist and her drawers parted. He had assented without further consideration.)

It had been an interesting Christmas season. At dinner they had been almost thirty, Rosa having invited a great number of destitute seamans' widows and their children, so Caroline's strange trances and surreptitious doses of laudanum went largely unnoticed, except by Jasper, who found it made him almost unbearably twitchy, as if he himself were back in the grip of withdrawal.

He had opted out of the parlour games, choosing instead to play festive accompaniments on the piano, but Rosa vowed that next year he would not escape his share of merriment.

Well, next year would be different. A new house, his mother well again and off the opium. Perhaps they would even expect a new addition to the family. If not, it would not be for want of trying.

As he walked from the station to the row of shambolic cottages, over ground hard and slippery with impacted snow, he reminisced pleasantly about his first month of marriage. Not yet forty days wed, but he must have pleasured his wife no less than a hundred times, surely. Ah, wedlock was such a marvellous invention… He liked the element of 'lock' in the word, picturing Rosa rather fetchingly shackled and naked. How would she take to the idea of that, he wondered…

But on drawing nearer, his thoughts darkened.

He stopped on the outskirts of town, where the market was held, and hired a handcart from a miserable-looking old gent in a leather apron. Emerging from his shed, he said, "You need it for anything heavy?"

"No, nothing heavy, merely some belongings of my mother's, who is moving to London. I wonder, do you have such a thing as a cover for it? A sheet of tarpaulin or some such?"

"It don't look like rain, but I suppose snow might come again," said the man with a shrug, retiring into his shed to bring out a folded square of heavy tarpaulin, which he placed inside the handcart. "When's you bringing it back?"

"By nightfall," he said.

"I mayn't be here. Leave it behind the shed with the others, if I've gone home."

"I will do so."

Jasper paid the small hire charge and began to pull the cart along the high street and out of town. Indeed, the man may well have retired for the night by the time he returned, for he judged darkness to be the best conditions for his errand. Hopefully the weather might be foul too, keeping everybody indoors.

It wasn't easy to wheel the cart along the snow-covered planks to his mother's front door, nor could he fit it inside, so he had to take it around the back, to the row of blank and ill-fitting rear doors and station it there, while he returned to let himself in at the front.

A half-starved looking dog whined at him as he walked by but Jasper had nothing to give the hound and he shooed it away. Still it persisted in yapping outside the window while he rubbed his raw hands and tried to warm them over a candle.

There was little here worth transplanting to London. Most of it was fit only for the bonfire. The mean sticks of furniture were worn down. Inside a drawer, he found a few papers that might be of value. Her false death certificate, for example, which he stared at in a trance for a long time before returning to the task at hand.

Dusk had fallen by the time he had sorted out all of his mother's possessions and found almost none of them worth keeping. He was hungry now, and terribly cold, but he could not imagine eating or resting until his task was done.

And it had to be done.

He had to seize that iron ring in the back scullery and pull up the stone.

A tremendously foul stench, of rot and earth, assailed his nostrils but he endeavoured to breathe through the offending waft, taking his candle and making his way to the poorly-built cubby beneath the house. It barely dignified the name of cellar, being hardly wider or longer than a grave. How apt, thought Jasper, shuddering.

And there they lay, amid cobwebs and rat droppings. Unmistakably human remains.

Jasper lapsed into an uncontrollable coughing fit, trapped in the acrid air and pressing darkness, with only his nephew's bones for company. He set down the candle on a step and dropped to his haunches, trying his best to settle his lungs.

When at last he could breathe again, black particles filled his vision, speckling the long thigh bones and kneecaps and ankles that had once been part of a living, laughing boy. His Ned.

It seemed obscene and brutal to look at him this way. Would he really have killed him? Would he really have commissioned this degradation and decay of his innocent flesh? A cloud of blackest self-loathing knocked out the stuffing of his resolve and he almost decided to shut the cellar door above his head and lie down next to Edwin, to await his own, much more richly deserved, death.

But there was barely room for two bodies and besides – Rosa. A vision of her, in black, at his funeral, made him reach out and pick up a pile of metatarsal bones. This job was as grim as could be, but it had to be done, if he had any future with his love.

He made journey after journey up and down those perilous steps, carrying armfuls of Edwin's remains to the cart and laying them down amongst his mother's few belongings. As he performed the task, he tried to elevate his mind from its horrific reality by chanting psalms under his breath until the dark hole in the hovel seemed every inch a cathedral to him. This tomb might not match the magnificence of the Drood vault but really, what difference did it make?

Finally the last bone was removed and he closed up the little underground cubby and took one last look around his mother's miserable living quarters. The bed with its stained, filthy cover; the table pocked with burn marks; the three-legged chair; the black, ashy grate. Ned had died here. He tried to picture the scene, that Christmas Eve long ago.

What if he had gone back to the gatehouse? What might have happened then?

Would he, John Jasper, have risen from his opiated sleep and throttled the life from his nephew? Or would he have dreamed on, oblivious, while Ned went to bed in the other room?

There was no way of knowing.

And then there had been another Christmas, a year ago, when he had smoked so much opium after midnight mass that he didn't turn up to Christmas morning eucharist. Crisparkle had knocked at his door and called his name, but he had been perfectly unconscious. He hadn't made it to their Christmas dinner either. It had been, as these lapses always were, put down to illness.

But they were starting to understand what lay behind the illnesses now, and it would be only three more months before his spectacular fall from grace.

It could so easily have been his bones in the sea.

But today he was going to bury Ned out there, making him one with the waves that would have carried him to Egypt.

The cart hire man had been right about snow in the air. It had begun again whilst Jasper had loaded his morbid cargo and now it flurried around him, accompanied by a brisk, whistling wind. He jammed his hat tight on his head and hoped the biting chill might not last too long. Even a greatcoat, gloves and muffler weren't quite enough to keep the cold from his bones but he kept himself wrapped up to the eyes as he took a firm grip of the handles and pulled the cart over the slippery, bumpy ground.

The lean dog pestered him, jumping and snapping around his legs and then tried to climb on to the cart, as if it knew that bones lay in there. Jasper tried to prod it away with the toe of his boot, but the dog would not be deterred and followed him up the road, whining all the way.

He took the back roads around Cloisterham, avoiding the cathedral area. The streets were quiet, dusk falling. Through cottage windows gaslight blazed and most houses had followed the royal family and observed the new fashion of potting and decorating an evergreen tree in the house for the season. He tried to keep his mind off his cold and fatigue by comparing the different decorations he caught sight of. Some were undecorated but most hung with ribbons, nuts, sweets and other little trinkets.

Rosa had been most insistent on having a tree, though Jasper had never observed the foreign tradition himself. She and her orphan girls had spent a merry afternoon tying numerous little articles on to its needle-thick boughs, shrieking and laughing while he tried to conduct a lesson in the room next door.

Householders looked out into the snow, some of their faces sympathetic when they caught sight of him struggling against the elements. The cart wasn't heavy but the ground was hard going, especially when he took it off the path and into the uneven grasslands that led to the seashore.

Many times the wheels almost overturned and tipped the cart sideways. He slipped and fell on to his knees more than once, but each time he stood back up and continued into the whirling white-grey ahead of him. His feet were numb now and no amount of stamping would bring warmth to them. But the sea was close, and his task nearly ended.

The stupid dog still followed him, as if he had done something to earn its loyalty.

He stood for a while, gathering his breath, and tried to get rid of the beast by hurling a stick through the snow behind him. But the dog only brought it back and then gambolled about his feet, waiting for the game to continue.

Jasper sighed and brushed snow from his eyebrows. This, at least, was a good day for disposing of a body. Who else would be abroad out here in this perishing cold? No, all sensible people would be beside their fires, drinking hot tea and looking out of the window at the pattering snowflakes.

Perhaps that was where Rosa was.

She had wanted to come with him but he had stood firm against the idea. Just as well, for she was not a hardy soul and her bitter complaints would have followed him all the way up the street. She had never known cold or discomfort, whereas he was on familiar terms with both.

When he got home, on the last train from Cloisterham, she would be waiting for him in bed. There would be no need to warm the sheets with a bedpan – her body would have done that job admirably. And then, oh yes, warm skin, soft lips, warm mouth, soft tongue, warmth and softness all over. Waiting for him. If he could just finish this…

He girded himself and picked up the cart once more. It couldn't be more than a few hundred yards to the water's edge now. Shivering all over, he slipped and stumbled across the hilly ground, still trying not to trip up on his unwelcome canine accompaniment.

The water's edge was visible now, a shifting, rippled mass beyond the still whiteness of the land. Jasper's leather gloves, wet with snow, were starting to slide on the long handles of the cart, making a good grip hard to sustain. The last few dozen yards were a stop-start grind, with more near-overturnings.

"Go home, you foolish cur," he muttered as the dog reached a peak of frenzied excitement, racing round and round Jasper's feet. He put his a toe forward to nudge it aside again, but at the same time his other foot made contact with some kind of rock, concealed by the snow and he fell heavily forward, smashing his ankle on the obstacle as he did so.

He tried to put out a hand, to break his fall, but hit his head on the cart handle on the way down, and then there was no more knowledge of anything.

No more knowledge of anything until a throbbing headache recalled him to his senses.

He was somewhere warm, sitting in an armchair with one foot a little elevated, on a stool. That foot was too painful to move. The smell of a fire made him think he was in the front parlour at home.

"Rosa," he murmured, trying simultaneously to open his eyes and sit up.

"No, no." An unfamiliar male voice spoke and a hand fell on his shoulder, returning him to his former position. "Don't try to move."

He was seized by panic and his eyes flew wide open and looked all about him. He was in a comfortable room, his feet close to the fire, a number of blankets piled over his lap, and the painful ankle was bandaged. Beside him, on a wooden chair, sat a man of roughly his own age, whilst a man he recognised but could not place looked on.

"What is this? Where am I? What has passed?"

"Please be calm," said the man at his side. "You are in safe hands. I am a doctor."

"A doctor?"

"Yes, and you are very lucky to be alive. Had this man's dog not run for help, you would most certainly have died out there in the snow tonight."

"I…hit my head. I fell." He put his hand up to the source of the headache, finding a large lump close to his temple.

"'E wouldn't let me alone," said the other man, whom Jasper now recognised as his mother's neighbour. "Barking and carrying on till I give up trying to eat me supper and followed him out. Thought he was trying to get me lost or killed, I did, then I saw you, sir, near enough covered in the drift."

"The dog," said Jasper blankly.

"Aye, 'e's a champion, that one. Deserves a medal, I reckon. Saved your life. Well, now I've seen you come round, I'll be off. Though me supper'll be cold."

"You've spoken to the…gentleman in the kitchen…haven't you?" The doctor looked swiftly but sharply at Jasper and all at once a creeping sense of dread seeped into him.

"Aye, he don't want no more from me for the time being."

"Well, then, I suppose you can go. I'm sure Ellen in the scullery will find a little something for you to eat if you ask her."

"You're a good man, doctor."

The old fellow shuffled off, giving Jasper one last curious backward glance.

"The gentleman in the kitchen," said Jasper.

"I think you've almost recovered the circulation in your toes," said the doctor, cutting across his words. "I feared you may succumb to gangrene, but I think we've staved it off." He paused, seeming to think better of continuing, but then he pressed on regardless. "Whatever possessed you to be crossing that country in those atrocious conditions? But I should not ask. It is not for me to ask."

"It is for…the gentleman in the kitchen?"

"The man who found you says he knows your mother. A lady called Mrs Johnson. He says she left Cloisterham before Christmas and he has not seen her since."

"Where is my cart? Is it still out there?"

The doctor looked towards the fire and took a slow breath out.

"No," he said. "It is not still out there."

Jasper's eyes followed the doctor's to the leaping flames. He felt suddenly very distant from everything. From his life, from his feelings, from his body.

"I see."

"You must be in a lot of pain," said the doctor. "I can give you something for it."

"Oh, no. No, do not give me that."

For the doctor had reached for a little brown bottle from the table and was uncapping it.

"It is merely laudanum. Please, take a drop. It will ease your suffering."

"I won't touch it. Put it away from me."

The doctor, bamboozled by Jasper's agitation, put the bottle aside.

"Some morphia then? I can inject it beneath your skin if you prefer…"

"No, no opiates."

The doctor stared for a moment, then recognition flooded his countenance.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I know you. But you are much changed."

"I believe I may have come to you in the past."

"For a prescription. Complaining of toothache. And I refused. You were very clearly in the last stages of opium addiction. Oh heavens. Your name…you were choirmaster…your name was…"

"Jasper. Yes."

"But you are free of it now?"

"Indeed I am. But if you have a little brandy…" Jasper winced. He might despise opium and all its derivatives, but something to ease the pain was no less welcome.

The doctor went over to a cabinet and poured Jasper a tot.

"I recall it well. You spoke so plausibly but your appearance gave you away. So gaunt and wasted, and that agitation – your hands shook ceaselessly. I wondered at the time how such a respectable man had been brought so low."

"A respectable man?" A third voice spoke from the doorway.

Jasper registered a squat middle-aged fellow in a long black coat, reminiscent of an old-fashioned surtout, with a double row of brass buttons. His heart pounded.

As he had feared, the gentleman in the kitchen was a police officer.

"And what might our respectable man have been doing out at night in a blizzard with a cart full of human bones?"

**A/N: Why do I love torturing him so? I can't seem to help myself. Poor Jasper – what a position to be in. Will he find a way out of it? We shall see…**


	17. Chapter 17

Jasper levelled a long, cool gaze at the policeman, who obviously relied on cutting as impressive a figure as possible to intimidate his targets.

"Do you intend to detain me?" he said.

"That all depends on the answers you have to my questions, sir."

"All the same, it appears I shall not be home tonight. Somebody must inform my wife. She will worry."

"We can take care of that," said the police officer. "Give me an address and I'll dispatch an officer directly."

"She lives in London."

"Perhaps it'll have to wait until tomorrow then."

"I must get to her." Jasper made an ineffectual attempt to rise out of his chair, prevented by the doctor.

"You won't be going anywhere until that bone heals," he reproved. "Pray do not make the fracture any worse."

"I'm afraid my questions will not wait," said the police officer, drawing up a chair. "First of all, let us make our introductions. My name is Inspector Waterford of the Kent constabulary." He held out a hand, which Jasper did not take. "Come, come," he reproached. "As the good doctor says, we are all gentlemen here."

"The doctor may speak for himself, but not for me."

Waterford shook his head sadly.

"There is no need for ill feeling, sir. But, as you will not tell me your name, perhaps you will allow me to use my detective skills in the hazarding of a small guess."

Jasper sneered.

"A guess?"

"The owner of that courageous dog – whom, I must tell you, we are thinking of awarding a medal – thinks you are the son of a woman named Johnson. But I don't think that's your name, is it?"

"I await your revelation. You are clearly most eager to have the credit for it." Jasper drank some more of the brandy, glaring at the fire.

"Well, the credit isn't entirely mine, if I'm honest. You see, I received, some days ago, a letter from a gentleman in London. He suggested I might be interested in re-opening an old case, some years closed."

"A gentleman in London?" Jasper stared, uncomprehending, then realisation struck him. "A member of the legal profession, by any chance?"

Waterford put a finger to the side of his nose. "The gentleman in question declines to be identified but…"

"Landless, acting out of malice because I have married the woman he loves."

"You may have your theories, Mr Jasper, and I may have mine. Ah, that is your name, is it not?"

"And this old case to which you refer is the disappearance of my nephew, I presume."

"It is indeed. So you can imagine that, when one of my constables told me of a cart of human bones, found by the seashore in the company of a man answering your description, I was, of course, curious."

"Understandable." Jasper took the decanter, which had been left within reach, and poured himself another glass. "But whatever premature conclusion you may have drawn from these facts is, I regret to tell you, quite wrong."

"I have not mentioned any conclusion at all. I am hoping that you will provide it for me, Mr Jasper."

"Where are the bones?"

"They have been taken away for examination."

"There is no need to examine them. I believe they are the bones of my nephew."

Waterford sat back, a little surprised, it seemed.

"Mr Edwin Drood?" He took out a notebook and began writing. "Is that what you say?"

"Yes."

"And…what were you doing with them?"

"I intended to give them a decent burial. At sea."

"In a blizzard."

"Yes."

Waterford looked up sharply.

"How did he die, Mr Jasper?"

Jasper swished the brandy around in his glass, trying not to let his eyes mist over.

"I was not present at his death," he said. "But I have spoken to one who was. This person attributes his death to an accident."

"This person? Very mysterious, Mr Jasper. And who might 'this person' be?"

"I do not wish to bring trouble upon them."

"Well, you see, that's both convenient and inconvenient, isn't it, sir? Convenient in that you have nobody to refute your claim and inconvenient in that you have nobody to corroborate it. Very inconvenient for me, a poor soul who seeks only to clear up this matter of an unexplained death and determine that no violence came to this unfortunate young man."

"No crime was committed, other than the concealment of a body. You have my word on that."

"Your word, Mr Jasper, ah. Now there's another little troubling matter." Waterford shook his head, sorrowfully, it seemed.

"Are you questioning its validity?" asked Jasper with a dangerous edge to his voice.

"Do you give me your word as an honest man?"

"Yes, I do."

"And yet my informant knew of an occasion when you broke into a house, here in Cloisterham, and stole a quantity of a prescribed substance."

"Then your informant must be Neville Landless."

"You do not deny it?"

Jasper shook his head, pale with more than the incessant pain of his head and ankle.

"I cannot. If you have spoken with Neville Landless…his sister must have told him…be it as it may, Inspector, this crime was committed at a time of extremity in my life which is now past and has no bearing on any current testimony I might give."

"But you must admit, as a reasonable man, that it casts a little shadow of doubt on your version of events. Ever so slightly."

"Damn it, man, have you never acted in a manner you have later regretted?"

"There is no need for oaths, Mr Jasper. Let us recall that we are grown gentlemen with obligations to society."

Jasper chewed at the inside of his lip, suppressing the urge to make more violent utterances still.

"Now, you say that your nephew died as the result of an accident?"

"It is what I have been told."

"By a person unknown."

"Not unknown to me, but there is no reason why she should be known to you."

"She?"

Jasper screwed shut his eyes, wanting to kick himself, if only his ankle weren't already broken.

"A lady? Mrs Johnson?"

"No, not she. I heard it from the lips of a female acquaintance who was present when my nephew was found dead."

"And when and where might that be?"

"I believe it was Christmas Day of 1845, at a house in Cloisterham."

"Which house? Mrs Johnson's house? Mrs Johnson, your 'mother'? Only you don't have a mother, do you, Mr Jasper? So who is Mrs Johnson?"

Jasper shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered. "You will send for my wife? She lives at 32 St Martin's Crescent in Bloomsbury. Write it down. I won't speak a word more until she is sent for."

"Well, so be it," said Waterford, setting aside his notebook. "I shall return to the station and have a telegraph message sent to our colleagues in London. You, I think it's fair to assume, won't be moving far from that spot before tomorrow." He chuckled. "The good doctor here is a safe pair of hands. He'll have you shipshape and Bristol fashion in no time."

"You won't forget to send for my wife?"

"No, no, please don't fret. There is one other thing I should mention before I go, though." He had risen as if to leave, but here he turned back to Jasper and crouched low beside him, looking intently into his eyes as he spoke the words. "I believe I have good enough grounds to arrest you on suspicion of the murder of Edwin Drood. You should consider yourself confined to this house until you can be removed to Chatham prison."

"What grounds? You have no grounds."

"As I've said, I believe I do. Tomorrow I will see the magistrate about setting a trial date. I bid you a good evening, Mr Jasper. Do consider taking a drop of laudanum for that ankle, won't you? Oh. But perhaps it's best you don't."

His smile was positively cruel as he picked up his reinforced hat and put it on his head.

Jasper watched him leave, then turned agitated eyes to the doctor.

"You don't believe him, do you? It is not true. I did not. Never could. Did not kill him. Have never killed. Never would."

He worked hard to find grammatical speech, but all that would come out of him were these jerky half-sentences.

"Calm yourself, please," said the doctor, coming to sit beside him. "If you are innocent, as you say, then all will be well."

"You speak as if no innocent man was ever hanged," said Jasper passionately, then he passed a hand across his brow and clenched a fist in his curls.

"You said you had witnesses," the doctor reminded him.

"Yes, yes, I have witnesses. My wife knows the truth. She will speak for me…oh, but her testimony will not be permitted. But she knows…the witnesses…oh Lord." He shook his head. "Unreliable witnesses."

"How unreliable?"

"Opium addicts, both. And one…there is one I cannot name. I truly cannot name her. For her history must never come to light."

"All this can be thought about tomorrow, Jasper. Won't you try to sleep?"

"Sleep? When I stand accused of a murder I have not committed? How can I sleep?"

The doctor laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You must try," he said firmly. "You must shut your eyes and trust in God. He knows the truth and, if you are innocent as you say, He will stand on your side."

"And besides," said Jasper, aware that he was making little sense, "Landless has no evidence against me. He can't have. He acts out of pure jealousy…oh…God."

He pressed his palms into his face, suddenly buffetted by a horrible realisation.

What Landless was doing to him was exactly what he had done to Landless, six years before.

"God save me," he muttered. "But perhaps I deserve this after all."

"You are fatigued, unwell and you have experienced a great shock," said the doctor, rising. "I am going to bed and I advise you to sleep as best you can. There is a bell on the side table, should you need anything. Good night."

Waterford called again the next morning to inform Jasper that that the magistrate – none other than Mr Sapsea – had applied for a trial date and agreed that the interim period should be spent awaiting that dread day at Her Majesty's pleasure in the cells at Chatham, where he could expect to be taken as soon as the doctor discharged him from his care.

The doctor declared that he wanted another day to make sure no serious harm had been done by the head wound, and to fetch a pair of crutches from the cottage hospital.

Jasper was left to brood on his misfortunes and consider a situation that seemed at best difficult and at worst hopeless.

By the time Rosa arrived, a little after lunchtime, he had already drafted out his gallows speech and drunk rather more brandy than was medicinal.

Hearing her voice in the passage, he put down his glass and sat up, trying to arrange his borrowed dressing gown and nightshirt to look a little less rumpled. The maid had brought him a shaving bowl and mirror earlier on but he had done only a lacklustre job, which he now regretted.

"Oh, Jasper, what has happened?" she cried, hurling herself into the room and running to his side. "Your foot! Your poor foot. And you have hurt your head."

"An accident," he said, but Rosa had knelt beside him and buried her face in his chest so that all he could do was hold her and feel her close to him and smell her hair. When she was not with him, he sometimes doubted her reality. To have her near again dispelled his troubles for a moment of briefest bliss.

"I am better for seeing you," he told her, but she looked up vividly, her brow knitted.

"Jasper, are you in trouble?" she whispered. "Why are the police involved? I came home very late last night to find a policeman at my door. I thought you were dead."

"What have they told you?"

"Nothing. Just that you were detained here with a broken ankle and, and, that I should make haste to see you. Something has happened, hasn't it? Something is wrong."

He nodded, swallowing hard.

"Rosa, they have charged me with Edwin's murder."

"Oh no! They cannot!"

"I was found unconscious in the snow with Edwin's bones in a cart by my side. They have drawn an inevitable conclusion. And I cannot properly defend myself because…"

"I will find your mother," said Rosa, her eyes fierce.

"What do you mean, find her? She is at home, is she not?"

She sighed.

"Oh, Jasper. I don't know where she is."

He found himself unable to project anything but a grimace of incomprehension. He shook his head, his cheek twitching.

"That was why I was so late home. I went to look for her. She had been in her room all afternoon, pacing and pacing. The ceiling creaked constantly; I was near to madness with it. Then there was hush and I thought she must have gone to sleep. But when I went to call her down for supper, her room was empty. And she was nowhere in the house. I thought immediately…"

"Opium," finished Jasper.

"Of course. What else could it be? She must have gone to buy some."

"Tell me you did not ―"

"I couldn't have you come home to find your mother gone! I took a cab to Limehouse."

"Rosa."

"I felt sure she would be with her friend. But when I got there, the den was all shut up and empty. A neighbour in the building told me the police had closed it down a few weeks since. He didn't know where she had gone. He thought she might be in prison."

"Then…?"

"I have no idea where your mother might be. I'm so sorry. I should have noticed her slipping out but I was occupied with May, helping to bake a pie from the remains of our Christmas goose and ham. I simply cannot think…"

"Clerkenwell? Her old neighbourhood? Maybe? Rosa, if we cannot find Princess Puffer, then I have no witness at all."

"You have me."

"You cannot take the stand."

"Then I will find your mother and she will take the stand."

"No, she cannot take the stand. A mother testifying for her son – who will pay mind to that? And besides, she is legally dead. We must find Princess Puffer."

"When your bone is healed we will search for her together."

"Oh, no, Rosa, you do not understand. I am charged with murder. I will not be permitted bail."

"They are going to put you in prison? Oh no, no. I will not let them."

She threw her arms around his neck and burst into a passion of weeping.

"It is wrong," she said between sobs. "I cannot bear it."

"You must bear it, my love," he said, kissing her hair. "As must I. But we must pray for strength and justice and soon all this will be past and I will be free again."

"Oh, it is too hard." She raised her tear-stained face to his. "But why murder? Why do they think you killed him? You have told them what happened, haven't you?"

"Yes, and if it were just a matter of my being found with the bones, perhaps they would have believed me. But somebody accuses me by letter, in advance of today, and the detective in charge of the case is predisposed to suspect me."

"Who? Who has accused you?"

"I believe it is Neville Landless."

"But why? Why now?"

"Why do you think, sweet Rosebud?"

"Because you have married me?"

"Yes, and he has motives of both jealousy and revenge."

"But what evidence could he give a detective…oh."

Rosa unclasped her fingers from Jasper's neck and sat down heavily in the seat beside him, covering her mouth, her expression infinitely troubled.

"What?" Jasper laid a hand on her upper arm, gently drawing her fingers away from her mouth.

She cast a tragic glance in his direction.

"Neville was there the night I ran away from the Nuns' House. He was at Grewgious' lodgings, I mean. With Helena. And I had suspicions of my own, as you know."

"Yes."

"Which I voiced. I may have repeated some of the things you said that day. I rather fear that the original accusation comes…from me."

"What things? What did you repeat?"

"Well, you should never have said them! Oh Lord, such terrible things. I was to judge for myself, you said, whether any…oh, how did you phrase it?...whether any other admirer should live, whose life was in your hand."

Jasper held a breath high in his lungs for a moment before letting it out.

"I did say that," he muttered. "I did say it. I think I meant it too. But it does not mean I have acted upon it. Mere words. The court will see that these were mere words…won't it?"

"I believed you meant them. I absolutely believed it. You said that noone should come between us. You would pursue me to the death. Those words rang in my nightmares for years, Jasper."

"I know, I know, and you know how sorry I am for it now…"

"But they do not."

"All the same it is hearsay. It is not admissable. All _will_ be well, my love. They have nothing in the way of proof."

"But you were discovered with his bones."

"We will find Princess Puffer."

"No, _I_ will find her. And I will, if I have to crawl through every alley and court in London on my hands and knees. I won't let anything bad happen to you."

"You may enquire of the prisons. As for my mother, report her missing. She may well return after a few days. Such is the addicted life. Do not fret until you have cause."

"And," she grasped and squeezed at his hand as if the most brilliant idea had occurred to her, "I will go and speak to Neville Landless."

"No," said Jasper firmly. "You will not."

"But if he knows the truth…"

"Do not cross his threshold and do not have any dealings with him. I forbid it."

The doctor entered the room at that moment, asking whether Rosa wanted a bed made up for the night.

Jasper yearned for her to stay, but knew that it was best if she returned home on the evening train. If his mother was back, she might know Princess Puffer's whereabouts and this whole sorry business could be brought to an end.

The doctor stepped out again while they made tearful and impassioned farewells, Rosa promising to visit three times a week at least and extracting his undertaking to write to her daily.

When he heard the front door close behind her, it was worse than having the locks and bolts of any cell door drawn against him. To be apart from her was true imprisonment.

And all night long, he heard his own words, the words he had spoken to her in that long ago, far off garden. _Circumstances may accumulate so strongly, even against an innocent man, that directed, sharpened and pointed, they may slay him._

If only he had known the stark truth of it, back then.

**A/N: OH, THE TERRIBLE IRONY! I love terrible irony. But I also love Jasper, so I'll try not to make it too terrible.**


	18. Chapter 18

January, thought Jasper, must be the very worst month to be in prison. The cold seemed to effloresce from the heavy brick walls and maintain the air in a state of permanent frigidity. Add to this the very dull and low quality of the light that entered the room from its high barred window and one had the ingredients for a flattening of spirits unsusceptible to speedy recovery.

He had to remind himself daily that many in this place suffered worse than he did. As a remand prisoner, he was not obliged to take a turn on the treadmill or the crank, and the quality of his food was a little better than that of the convicts. All the same, he cursed Sapsea for refusing bail, on the grounds that, first, he lived too far from Cloisterham and, second, the gravity of the crime suggested public safety might be compromised by his continuing liberty.

At least he had means to purchase a private room, though at a grossly overestimated rental fee, for it was little better than a cell in most respects. He was also able to earn a small amount of money by playing the hymn accompaniments at the two dreary Sunday services. In a fit of boredom, he had requested of the governor that he start up a prison choir, but his suggestion had been declined. It seemed a policy of the place that its inmates should be kept in a state of perpetual torpor, and Jasper felt himself sinking into apathy as he whiled hour after hour away in solitude.

They had set a date for the Assizes in two weeks time. Rosa had hired a lawyer and a defence counsel had been instructed, but the matter of witnesses was still vexed. His mother remained missing on the streets of London, and Rosa's attempts to uncover the whereabouts of Princess Puffer had been thus far unsuccessful. All he had in his defence was a story told to him by an opium dealer.

He tried to buoy his spirits by telling himself the prosecution had little better. Fragments of remembered conversations and no more. Nothing to prove that any act of violence had ever been perpetrated. But the story was still large and alive in Cloisterham legend, and he suspected that people wanted to believe him guilty. They wanted a murder.

Worst of all, Rosa would suffer in all this. Her engagement to Edwin, and now their marriage, would be pulled apart and held up for all to tarnish with their impudent scrutiny. Filthy inferences would be made and Rosa would be called every name under the sun in all the Cloisterham taverns. The thought of it made him pale and clench his fists.

The midday meal was long over which meant that a dull and cheerless afternoon stretched out before him. One hour of exercise before lunch was not enough, thought Jasper resentfully. That time spent on the bitter cobbles of the prison yard was the highlight of most of the men's day. He drew attention for his crutches and because he was well-dressed and bore himself like a gentleman, commanding equal parts admiration and hostility.

"What's a gent like you in here for?" asked a breathless youth with head shaved bare to rid it of lice.

"I am falsely accused," he had said.

The youth's mirthless laughter rang in his ears. "Ain't we all, guv'nor? No, but what's the charge? You one of them gentleman swindlers what gets all the widows?"

"Murder," he said gloomily, and the youth doffed his prison cap, clearly impressed, before withdrawing to confer in whispers with his fellows.

But the exercise hour was past for another day and now he had only bibles and hymnals for company, unless a warder should happen to visit with a book he had requested from the small library.

He was surprised in his efforts to sleep away the tedium by the jangling of keys in his lock. He sat up, moving his healing foot carefully off the bed, and reached for his crutches.

"Visitor for you, Mr Jasper," said the warder, opening the door and ushering Rosa inside.

"Oh, Rosa, I did not expect you!" He tried to stand upright a little too quickly and lost his balance, falling back again on to the bed. "I thought you had business in town today."

"I have cancelled that business," she said gravely, coming to sit beside him and holding on to his arm.

Her manner, and the pink rim around her eyes, struck an immediate chill to his heart.

"The case bodes ill for me?" he asked. "What has come to light? Rosa, what is amiss?"

"My darling," she said gently, clasping her hands around his neck and pulling his face towards hers so that their brows touched. "I am so very sorry."

"Please, just tell me what ―"

"Your mother. She has been found."

"She is…?"

"She was found dead in a casual ward in Whitechapel. Natural causes, they've said. She was just too weak to live that life on the streets."

"But…she didn't have to. I gave her the means to…I meant for her to stop. I was going to help her stop. Oh, if I had not been in this place!"

She pressed a fingertip to the tear that had fallen from his eye.

"You must not blame yourself. It is not your fault. She was ill and too far gone to save, probably. That life was ingrained in her and it would have taken a stronger will than yours to take her away from it."

"There _is_ no stronger will than mine," asserted Jasper. "She could have been saved."

"Hush, don't talk of what could have been, love. Hold me close, for I miss your arms every hour of every day."

He acceded to her request, pressing her tight against his chest, letting the tears he couldn't hold back run into her hair before taking his handkerchief and mopping his face dry.

"Curious," he muttered. "I barely knew her. I am not sure how I should grieve. And being here, in this horrible stew, I feel I must postpone every other thought and feeling until I am free."

"You will soon be free," said Rosa, but her voice was very small and lacked the conviction he'd hoped to hear.

"At any rate, I shall soon be out of this place."

"Oh, don't. They cannot find you guilty."

Jasper held her still, wanting to suck the feeling of having her there inside of him and keep it. The nights were so long and so cold here. He should be in bed with his Rosa, his wife, and instead he lay on a straw pallet mattress atop a wooden board, toes as numb and cold as they had been on the night he broke his ankle.

"They will let me attend the funeral," he said, to himself chiefly. "Won't they?"

"I am sure they will," said Rosa. "It is in the hands of the best funeral director in London. She will get a decent burial at least."

He held her away from him for a moment, searching her face.

"Who do they think she is?"

"The name she gave them. Caroline Johnson."

"Then…they will not believe me to be her son. They will not let me go."

"Oh, I didn't think of that. Yet I told the funeral director she was my mother-in-law."

"Well, none can harm her now. Time for the truth to come out, do you suppose?"

"Surely it must be. I will ask Mr Grewgious' advice."

"Grewgious?"

"Don't frown so, Jasper. He has been a great help and comfort to me since your arrest."

"I am glad you did not instruct him as my lawyer."

"Well, I could hardly do so. He has been called by the Prosecution."

"Grewgious has?"

Rosa sighed. "He thinks you did it."

"Then how can he be a comfort to you? Who else is providing comfort? Neville Landless?"

"Jasper, stop it."

"I should have had him hanged when I had the chance."

"_Jasper!_"

He held his head in his hands for a moment then turned back to Rosa, clutching at her fingers to stop his own shaking.

"You are going to be a widow twice over, and this time your husband won't even leave you your good name. I cannot bear to think of it."

"You mustn't speak so." Rosa's demeanour was fierce, her brow set low over stubborn blue eyes. "You must be strong, for both our sakes. We know you are innocent, but if we don't have faith, nobody else will have faith in us."

He bent his gaze to her, long and intense. "Give me some of your spirit, Rosebud, for I have need of it," he said.

"All you need of me, you can take," she said.

"Even here in this gloomy cell, facing trial on a charge of murder, I can say that I am a lucky man. Undeserving and yet blessed."

"There. Consider all your good fortune and pay no mind to the bad. We will prevail. I shall see Grewgious – do not curl your lip so! – about establishing your mother's true identity. And I must keep searching for Princess Puffer."

"Have you tried all the prisons? Millbank? Pentonville?"

"Every one. But I mean to visit the hospitals next."

"Better include the workhouses."

"Jasper, there are so many, and we have only two weeks."

"Spirit, now," he reminded her. "Do not be downcast."

"Your mother is to be buried on Friday next," she said. "One week before the Assizes. I have arranged for the ceremony to take place here in Cloisterham, as it was her home. And as you are here."

"I shall petition the governor to let me attend."

"And I will have Grewgious write to him, once he has the proper legal documentation. Oh, I hope it will not take long."

"This is a lawyer you are speaking of. It will probably be done by the time we are in our dotage. You, at least. I may not see my thirty third birthday."

"And now it is my turn to tell you not to be downcast. Goodness, Jasper, we are like the little wooden people in the weather clock. One of us stormy, the other sunny, but never coinciding."

The key rattled in the lock, a signal that the visit was soon to end.

Jasper seized Rosa's arm and pulled her into a kiss. Every hope, every despair, every vestige of his passion for her poured from him into the vessel of her lips. He held her tightly against him, fingers in her hair, his other arm keeping her secure around her back, and thought perhaps if he didn't let go the warder couldn't separate them.

"C'mon now, this is a prison, not a knocking shop," said the unwelcome fellow, standing in the doorway.

"How dare you speak so before my wife?" spluttered Jasper, breaking the kiss. "I should black your eye for you, were I not lamed by this confounded ankle."

"And I should have you put in solitary confinement on bread and water," replied the warder laconically. "Now get your wicked hands off that poor girl before I have to report you to the guv'nor."

"How cruel you are," said Rosa, pulling herself up to her full height – not much above five feet – and glaring at him. "I hope you never find yourself wrongly accused in this place."

"Not bloomin' likely," said the warder. "Now come along, madam, visiting time is over."

She planted one last kiss on Jasper's lips and left with a regretful and, he observed, somewhat tear-dimmed final glance.

"Inform the governor that I wish to speak with him," said Jasper imperiously as the warder turned to leave.

"You can line up after dinner with the rest of the lags," said the warder, then he left, muttering something under his breath about 'Lord Bloody Hoity-Toity'.

Lining up after dinner with the rest of the lags proved to be an unpleasant and humiliating affair. Those prisoners who had requests to make were positioned along the corridor and made to face the wall. Presumably, Jasper supposed, this was to avoid riotous behaviour breaking out, but all the same he felt like his nine-year-old self, sent to the corner for flicking ink at Atkinson Major during arithmetic.

By the time his turn in the governor's office came, he was simmering with unexpressed resentment and disinclined to couch his request in the necessary obsequious terms.

"Name?" asked the governor, his hand poised over a large leather-bound box containing index cards.

"Jasper, John."

The governor frowned at the box, then looked up.

"Ah, awaiting trial?"

"That is so."

He found the relevant card in a smaller box and held it out before him.

"Oh, murder," he said, raising his eyebrows and looking more closely at the man before him. "The former choirmaster. Yes, I used to enjoy your music, up at the cathedral, I must say. Regrettable."

"I am innocent of the charge."

"Of course, of course." He sighed. "What is your request?"

"I require leave to attend my mother's funeral. It is on Friday next."

The governor brought the index card close to his bespectacled eyes.

"You are listed as an orphan. Is there a mistake?"

Jasper had no wish to divulge the particulars of his somewhat sensational parentage to this man, but it seemed he had no choice.

"There was a mistake in the reporting of my mother's death shortly after my birth. She did not, in fact, die. She merely moved to Cloisterham." He could not help smiling at this. "Which, of course, some may consider equivalent."

The governor clearly did not appreciate this aspersion on his locale. He looked up severely.

"I doubt _that_, Mr Jasper. So your mother did not die, but was listed as dead for the duration of your life?"

"Yes." He nodded, horribly aware of how unlikely it all sounded.

"I'm afraid I can't grant permission. It is all rather far-fetched. If I let you go to this funeral, every man in this gaol will concoct a falsely-registered relative. I am sorry, but my answer is no."

"I have written to my lawyer," said Jasper, proffering a letter. "He is to settle the matter with a solicitor in London whom my wife has hired to investigate the legalities. Should this be achieved before the funeral, may I take it that you will reconsider?"

"I suppose so," said the governor, taking the letter and weighing it in curious hands. "But I imagine it will take longer than a matter of a few days. Well, you may go."

"Thank you for hearing me. I wonder…" He stopped on his way out, leaning on a crutch. "Would you object to my playing the piano in the chapel for an hour?"

"Oh. I don't know. Well, all right then."

"If I can't be at her funeral, I can at least pay her some form of personal tribute."

The governor nodded.

"I understand."

Jasper's hour in the prison chapel playing Schubert's third Impromptu was, in the event, his only chance to bid the mother he had never known a true farewell.

He ran his fingers over the indifferently-tuned keys, letting the music rush out, accompanying his silent tears and the memories of his lonely boyhood. Was it worse, he wondered, to be like Rosa and lose a mother's precious love, or like him, and never have it?

By the time the hour was up and the light from the barred, diamond-paned chapel window quite gone, he had wearied of all thought and all grief, and he ached so much to have his Rosa in his arms that he thought he might break.

A week later, on the morning of his mother's funeral, she came to see him again. No progress had been made in the establishment of Caroline's true identity, the doctor who had signed the certificate being long dead, along with her parents – the grandparents Jasper had met perhaps three or four times during his early infancy. Princess Puffer was elusive as ever.

Jasper's counsel tried, on the occasions he visited, to maintain an optimistic front but it seemed that he had grave doubts as to the possibility of proving his innocence.

It was guilt that needed to be proven, though. Jasper reminded himself of this a hundred times a day but the mantra was wearing thin now.

Rosa was all in black, a little crepe bonnet on her fair curls and she looked exhausted and cold after a long journey on a sleety morning.

There was little warmth in the room, so Jasper's arms had to provide what they could while Rosa wept helplessly into his chest.

"Hush, it is my mother, not yours," he said.

"I do not remember my own mother's funeral," she said. "And now you shall not remember yours. Oh, forgive me," she said, bursting into fresh tears. "I cannot seem to regulate myself at all of late."

"It is natural," he soothed. "You have had a great many upsets. You have been so strong and the effort is telling on you. But next week…next week I shall be free." He spoke the words with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Oh, I hope so, Jasper, I am praying for it harder than you can imagine. You must come back to us."

"To…us?"

She caught her breath as if she had said something she should not. He took hold of her by the chin and made her look him in the eye.

"I did not mean…anything…" She tried to slide her eyes away.

"No, Rosa, look at me and tell me who is living in our house? Have you taken another lodger? Is it a man? Is it Landless?"

"Jasper, you insult me. I should slap your face and leave you here to stew."

"All right, I am sorry, I know you would never…Do not listen to me, I am half-mad with the oppression of this place."

She took his hand and spoke more gently.

"You are very, very far from the mark. Oh, I was not going to tell you…not until after the Assizes."

"Tell me what?"

"It may yet come to nothing, or I may be simply imagining or hoping too much…but I am almost certain. I feel so sick all the time that I avoid entering the kitchen. And the exhaustion is like nothing I have felt before. And there are other signs…signs that I am either ill, or…"

She put a hand on her stomach. It was still so perfectly flat and tightly laced-in that Jasper did not understand the significance of the gesture for a moment.

Then realisation knocked him off his balance and he smacked a palm on to his brow.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Oh, you mean…"

She nodded, smiling despite herself, a broad flush spreading over her cheeks.

"A child," he murmured, unable to resist putting his hand against Rosa's stomach, as if he might feel the additional heartbeat there. "My child."

"Ours," said Rosa. "Just think, Jasper. Next Christmas, we shall have a baby in the house. Our new house. We must find one with a good room for a nursery and a south-facing garden for him to play in."

"Him?"

"I feel it is a boy. And you will teach him to play the piano and he can learn his letters alongside my little orphan girls – so he will also learn good manners and gentleness. We will be so happy. Won't we, Jasper?"

"Yes," he whispered. He reached out and stroked her cheek, holding her face. "We will."

The familiar doom-signal of the keys in the lock cut short their little moment of celebration and Rosa had to go.

Jasper lay in his room, looking out at the slate grey skies beyond the bars, thinking of his mother's body being laid in the hard winter ground. Opium had put her there and it had brought him here too.

And now it was not just Rosa he might be leaving. Now another soul would carry on the taint of his blood, a child with a father lost to the gallows. How was he expected to celebrate this new life when it was all too likely to begin in sorrow and continue in hardship?

But perhaps a comfort to Rosa, some company for her? A part of him with her, always.

Such thoughts revolved in his mind, occasionally interrupted by meetings with his counsel and further visits from Rosa, until the day of the Assizes came – both too soon and too slowly.

For by the end of that day, he would know his fate.


	19. Chapter 19

He had tried to convince the marshals that the handcuffs weren't necessary. Although he could bear some weight now on his injured foot, he was scarcely in sufficient condition to leap away over the countryside like a gazelle taking flight. But they had ignored his pleas and put the cuffs on anyway.

Now he sat with the other arraigned prisoners, waiting to be called up from the holding cell.

"Don't wear yer best suit," the shaven-headed youth, about to be tried for sheep-stealing, advised him. "They'll only take it off yer when they take you down. Oh, begging your pardon, I forgot. If they find you guilty, you hang. I think you get to keep the suit in that case."

Jasper had not needed the reminder and now, as in the long wakeful watches of the previous night, he saw in his mind's eye the looming shadow of the gallows. Beads of sweat broke again on his brow and he shut his eyes and tried to picture Rosa.

Oh, Rosa. He had told her not to attend the trial. At least that way she would not have to suffer the curious insolent eyes of the world upon her, and neither would he. But to see her face now was the only thing his soul craved.

He lifted his hands, wondering how difficult it would be to conduct a choir or play the piano in these cuffs. Ever since the day of his mother's funeral, the governor had given him dispensation to play the piano for an hour each afternoon. Yesterday he had barely been able to touch the keys, his hands shaking in anticipation of what the morrow would bring, but he had somehow hammered his way through a half-crazed rendition of the last movement of the Appassionata sonata before collapsing, head on arms, in a huge discord of ivories.

He needed to hold his nerve. He had to convince the jury of his innocence. How did one look innocent? He feared they had already convicted him, before the trial had even begun.

"You're up," said the marshal, descending the steps from the courtroom. "You there. Jasper."

He rose and limped towards the staircase, taking each step slowly, and not just because of his injured foot. His legs felt leaden, as if wading through the sea. It reminded him of the day he saved Rosa from drowning.

At the top, the marshal turned to him and said, "Now, if I take these cuffs off you, you're to promise me, no tricks. Can I count on you to behave?"

"Of course," he muttered, holding out his wrists.

He was escorted from there into the courtroom and shut in the dock, from which place he was able to take a view of his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that Rosa, characteristically, had defied his instruction and sat in the front row of the public gallery, accompanied by the older Mrs Crisparkle.

Even as his heart burned to see her, the dim realisation that Helena should be her companion troubled him, and he concluded that she must have been called as a prosecution witness.

The courtroom was crowded and bustling. Newspaper reporters scribbled in notebooks, doubtless describing his countenance as monstrous or terrifying or somesuch. He put a hand to his whiskers, checking that they were in good order and hadn't suddenly grown to a disreputable length.

He vaguely recognised a couple of the jurors as regular attendees at cathedral services, but there was nobody he knew well. In the gallery, alongside Rosa and Mrs Crisparkle, on the other hand, he recognised almost everyone, including a handful of his former choristers, truanting from school for the occasion.

His entrance had caused a veritable wave of loud speculation, plus one ragged cry of 'Murderer' from the gallery. A schoolfriend of Ned's; he didn't recall the name.

The usher threatened to remove the miscreant and called for silence which duly, if none too rapidly, fell.

The Clerk turned to him and spoke through the uneasy hush.

"John Jasper, the charge against you is that you did feloniously, wilfully and with malice aforethought, kill your nephew, Edwin Drood, in the City of Cloisterham, on the night of 24th December 1845. Are you guilty, or not guilty?"

He would have little chance to speak, since defendants never took the stand or made any declaration under oath, so he had to make this count.

"Not guilty," he said, with the utmost clarity of which he was capable.

A slight buzz was quelled once more by the usher, and then the clerk swore in the twelve good men and true.

The judge called on the advocates to identify themselves and declare their allegiances, then Jasper's lawyer, a keen-eyed fellow called Siddons moved for an adjournment.

"An adjournment? On what grounds?" asked the judge waspishly.

"We have been experiencing difficulty in locating an important material witness, my Lord, and she cannot as yet be produced."

"What material witness is this?"

"The lady whose name we know only as Jane, my Lord. My client was regrettably never informed as to her surname and she was last seen some months ago now, at her former domicile in Limehouse to which she has not returned."

"Well, I am afraid we cannot delay on those grounds, Mr Siddons. The lady may well be dead or otherwise incapacitated. You will have to sum up her testimony without recourse to cross-examination."

Somebody in the public gallery half-stood, coughed, and then collapsed back on to his seat. Jasper recognised the charity boy, Deputy, still casting inappropriately languishing glances at Rosa.

"Very good, my Lord," said Mr Siddons, sounding as if the news was anything but.

"We will open proceedings," said the Judge. "Mr Cartwright, I invite you to state the case for the Prosecution."

The Prosecution case was long and detailed and, to Jasper's ears, utterly damning. They seemed to know everything about him, from his opium addiction to his obsession with Rosa, the theft of the laudanum from the Crisparkles and the discovery of Edwin's bones. They had seen his diary and knew about even the most inconsequential conversations he had had – with the jeweller, for example, the day before Edwin's disappearance.

By the time the first witness was called, Jasper had judged himself guilty and condemned himself to death.

"Call Anthony Durdles." The clerk assisted a rather ancient and unsteady-looking cathedral stonemason to the witness box.

Having made him take the oath and established his identity and occupation, Mr Cartwright commenced the cross-examination.

"You work in Cloisterham Cathedral, I believe."

"That's so, sir. Durdles is the cathedral stonemason."

"And in your professional capacity, did you ever have any dealings with the prisoner you see before you?"

"With Mr Jarsper? Durdles can't say as he'd call them professional dealings, but the man took a decided interest in Durdles' work. An uncommon interest, he might say."

"And what form did this uncommon interest take?"

"He made Durdles take him down to the crypt one night."

"Do you remember the date?"

"Durdles can't be certain, but it can't have been many days before the unfortunate young man was reported missing."

"In December of 1845, then?"

"Durdles should certainly say so."

"What reason did he give for wanting this service, this grand tour of the cathedral depths?"

"No reason, sir. Mere curiosity."

"Had he many questions to ask of you?"

"He did, sir. He noticed the pile of quicklime in the corner of the vault and wanted to know what it was for."

"And you told him?"

"Durdles told him it would eat up your bones as quick as your boots, sir."

"Those were the terms you used?"

"Words to the effect, sir."

"You have also stated that he gave you some payment for your services. Can you tell the jury what form that payment took?"

"He gave Durdles a bottle of a very palatable vintage wine, sir. Highly welcome on such a bitter night."

"So you drank the wine whilst you were in the crypt?"

"Durdles took a drop, sir, but – most unusually for Durdles – the strength of it defeated him and he don't remember no more about that evening."

"The strength of it defeated him?" The counsel displayed stagey suspicion. "You are a man who can hold his ale, I surmise?"

"Durdles ain't never been taken so after a few mouthfuls of wine, no matter what its potency, sir. It's my belief as the wine was doctored, sir."

"Doctored?"

"Mr Jarsper put something in it. And knowing what we know of him now, Durdles could hazard a guess as to what that something was."

"I'm afraid we are not in the business of speculation, Mr Durdles, but your point is well taken."

"Objection!" Mr Siddons rose to his feet. "There is no evidence that my client tampered with the wine. I advise the jury to disregard that statement."

The Judge agreed and directed the jury to ignore it.

Mr Cartwright continued.

"When you woke up after your peculiar loss of consciousness, was all in order?"

"In order, sir?"

"Was Jasper still with you?"

"No, for it was morning. Durdles didn't notice anything immediately amiss, but some days later he noticed that a key was missing from his collection."

"Oh? And what key was that?"

"The key to the Sapsea tomb, sir."

"And you can think of no other way in which its loss may have been incurred?"

"No, sir. Durdles is sure it must have happened that night, and Jarsper took it."

Siddons was up again. "Objection, my Lord. This key could be anywhere. This is pure speculation."

Jasper knew where the key was. It was in the sea. He had thrown it there on Boxing Day. But it didn't seem that anyone was about to ask him about it.

"I fail to understand this line of questioning," the Defence Counsel continued. "My client may well have asked about quicklime but, since the bones have been found, he evidently made no use of it. Neither is there any evidence that those bones ever lay in the Sapsea vault."

"This is so," conceded Cartwright. "I wish to establish that, however it was eventually done, murder was in this man's mind. Perhaps he did not make use of the quicklime, but his unusual interest in the crypt is certainly, to my mind, suggestive."

"Suggestion is not admissable, surely."

The Judge merely shook his head.

"Do you wish to question the witness, Mr Siddons?"

"I do. Mr Durdles, you are the first to admit that you have a fondness for intoxicating liquor."

"Durdles can't deny it, sir."

"Indeed, it is well-known around the cathedral precincts that you have difficulty in knowing when to stop drinking."

"Durdles takes offence, sir. As of January 1st of this year, he has taken the temperance pledge and not a drop has touched his lips since."

"That is very commendable, Mr Durdles, but such a pledge had not been taken in 1845, had it?"

"No, sir."

"And, my client informs me that, at that time, you employed a child to throw stones at you, to ensure you returned home before you lapsed into insensibility."

There was general laughter in the courtroom at this.

"Is this true, Mr Durdles?"

"Aye," he said with a very unfriendly look in Jasper's direction. "True enough."

"I suggest, Mr Durdles, that you lived, at that time, in a fog of alcoholic confusion and that your evidence is consequently not to be relied upon."

"Durdles knows what he knows," said the old man stubbornly. "He don't know whether that man's a murderer, but he's a rum 'un all the same."

"Thank you, Mr Durdles, you may stand down."

Jasper leant forward in the dock, signalling that he wished to confer with his counsel. Mr Siddons' junior gave him pencil and paper on which to write a note.

"Call Deputy," Jasper wrote. "The child. He knows that there were no bones in the Sapsea vault. He opened it himself, earlier this year. He is here now, in the public gallery."

The junior counsel nodded and took the note to Mr Siddons, who appeared to make no immediate move but sat back awaiting the next witness.

"Call Septimus Crisparkle."

Crisparkle? What could he have to say against him? Jasper was both surprised and disappointed to see his old friend the minor canon take the stand.

"Reverend Crisparkle," opened Mr Cartwright. "You were on friendly terms with the accused, back in the winter of 1845?"

"Indeed I was. We were colleagues in the cathedral and we often saw each other outside it, most notably at my mother's musical _soirées_."

"The 'Alternate Musical Wednesdays', as I believe they were known?"

"They were. Jasper would play piano accompaniments and sing for us. He is a very accomplished musician, as I'm sure many of us here today will recall from his time as cathedral choirmaster."

"Yes, Mr Jasper's musical abilities are not in question here. But what about his character, Reverend? What could you tell us of that?"

"I scarcely know what you expect me to say…I liked Jasper. He was a great favourite of my mother's."

"And he had a great favourite of his own, did he not?"

"You mean…?" Crisparkle cast a worried glance up to Rosa in the gallery. She pinched her lips and tossed her head away from him, clearly outraged at his disloyalty in appearing for the Prosecution.

"No, we shall come to that later," said Cartwright, taking his meaning. "But I refer to his nephew, the deceased."

"Oh, yes, of course. Yes, he doted upon the boy. Edwin's visits were always very keenly anticipated and he did everything he could to make him comfortable."

"Did you feel that this was a natural and mutually…healthy…relationship?"

"Oh dear. Well, I'm afraid I did consider it rather _intense_, on Jasper's side. I thought perhaps he invested too much of his hopes in Mr Drood, at the expense of his own ambitions. He seemed to have no interest in much besides."

"No interest in anything except his nephew?"

"It certainly seemed that way. He talked of him constantly. My mother was always throwing her hands up and saying that surely it was time he started thinking about courting a young lady and getting himself a wife. She thought him entirely unsuited to bachelorhood. But that is my mother's general view of all men, I must confess. She considers them unfinished without a woman by their side."

"Instead, he absorbed himself in this all-consuming involvement with his nephew?"

"He did."

"He kept a diary of his movements, you have said."

"Yes, a very odd diary. Nothing of his own thoughts, simply a record of Mr Drood's activities. He showed it to me upon occasion."

"Yes, we will come to that. When Mr Drood came to Cloisterham for his fateful Christmas visit, you had a guest of your own staying with you, did you not?"

"Yes, Neville Landless."

"Who is Neville Landless, for the benefit of the jury?"

"A young gentleman, only seventeen years old at that time, recently arrived from Ceylon to study with me. I was attached to a charitable mission who sent him to me."

"Him and his twin sister?"

"Yes, but she went to the Nuns' House. The school. Mr Neville stayed with me and my mother."

"Drood and Mr Neville had a somewhat unfortunate introduction, did they not?"

"Yes, I'm afraid there were fisticuffs." Crisparkle chuckled nervously.

"Were you present at the occasion?"

"I was present at their meeting, for it took place at my mother's Alternate Musical Wednesday. There was some ill-feeling between them. Mr Neville felt that Mr Drood did not treat his fiancée as well as he might be expected to."

"Mr Drood's fiancée being Miss Rosa Bud?"

"Indeed."

"But no fight took place at that time?"

"No. However, the two young fellows left our house together and I gather the exchange became more heated after that."

"How did you learn of this fracas?"

"I did not learn the most of it from Mr Neville. He came home, rather the worse for drink and with scraped knuckles, but he went straight to bed without giving much account of himself except to apologise for having made a bad beginning. The news came to me from Jasper."

"The prisoner. And how did he describe the incident?"

"Well, I'm afraid, to my mind, he exaggerated Mr Neville's threat to Mr Drood a great deal."

"Why do you think so?"

"Mr Neville is impulsive, yes, and hasty tempered, I will not deny, but he is not and never was _murderous_."

"And this is how Jasper described him to you? He used that very word?"

"Yes, he said something like…bear with me, this will not be verbatim, but…'I had a bad time with him', and when I asked how bad, he said 'Murderous'. He went on to say that, but for his own swiftness and strength, Mr Drood might have been struck down at his feet."

"So he gave you a very much stronger account of the disagreement than you had from Mr Neville. Did Mr Neville give you his own account?"

"Yes, later that morning."

"And were you satisfied with it?"

"Yes, I was satisfied that it was simple hot-headedness and, God rest his soul, Mr Drood could be somewhat provocative."

"And did Mr Jasper accept this also?"

"No, I am afraid he did not and, over the course of the succeeding days, he continued to harp on about the matter until I thought some form of delusional mania must have overtaken his mind."

"Really? His protestations were such that you thought him in the grip of some illness?"

"When he showed me his diary, I began to worry in earnest."

"What was in the diary?"

"A catalogue of irrational fears about threats to Edwin Drood's safety – from Mr Neville."

"Why did he show you this?"

"I cannot say – that would be for him to explain."

"Yes." Mr Cartwright seemed aware that Mr Siddons had been about to voice an identical view. "But it is clear that Mr Jasper was keen to keep the idea of Mr Neville's dangerousness and murderousness ever at the forefront of your mind?"

"Yes, it became rather wearying."

"And on the day of the disappearance – on Christmas Eve – was he still in this frame of mind?"

"No, he was rather different. Light-hearted, I might almost say."

"Light-hearted? Noticeably so?"

"Most unusually for Jasper, I have to say. He was never one for trivial entertainments. I complimented him on his singing at Evensong and he confided that he was no longer experiencing what he called 'black humours' and felt that all would be well with regard to Edwin."

"Really? How extremely ironic, given the events so shortly to come. And you state that he had arranged a meeting between his nephew and Mr Neville?"

"Yes, he had invited them for supper at his gatehouse lodge. He was hoping for a reconciliation between them."

"Did this reconciliation take place?"

"According to Mr Neville, the meal was a perfectly amiable affair. The two young men left together. Mr Neville says he left Mr Drood in the cathedral before coming home to my house. He left early the next morning to walk along the coastline."

"How did you become aware of Mr Drood's disappearance?"

"John Jasper appeared at my house demanding to know where he was. He seemed to think Mr Neville would know."

"And from that point, he made every effort to point the finger of suspicion at that unfortunate young man?"

"Yes, I'm afraid he did."

"Mr Landless was placed under a form of house arrest which was only lifted a year later, there still being no sign of a body?"

"That is so. He lodged with a London lawyer, a Mr Grewgious, who stood as surety."

"It was you who found some of Mr Drood's personal effects, down by the weir, was it not?"

"Yes, I found his shirt pin, watch and chain."

"Did you tell Jasper of this discovery yourself?"

"I did."

"And what was his reaction?"

"He did not react, in particular. I don't think he knew what to think of it. I personally do not believe he murdered Mr Drood. I should like to make that clear."

"Thank you, Reverend, but I must direct the jury not to regard that statement. Are you familiar with the effects of opium?"

"Not in the least."

"So you would not be able to say whether you thought you had seen him, at any time, under its influence?"

"I'm afraid not. He always seemed perfectly clear-headed to me, though he suffered occasional attacks – ill-health, mainly of a gastric nature. It was only much later that we came to realise the severity of his addiction."

"When he was dismissed from the cathedral as a result of it?"

"Indeed." Crisparkle looked uncomfortable now, and Jasper cast his eyes down.

"One final matter, Reverend, before I offer my learned friend the opportunity to question you. Were you aware of the prisoner's attachment to Mr Drood's fiancée, Miss Rosa Bud?"

"I was not. Not until somebody told me of it, and I refused to believe it for some time after that."

"But you believe it now?"

"Yes, I believe now that he had been infatuated with her for some time, without my knowledge."

"He kept this regard for her secret from all? He deceived everyone around him?"

"Well, apparently it was not a secret to Rosa herself, but…I don't know if I would call it _deception_. It wasn't really our business, was it?"

"It was his nephew's business, surely?"

"Well…possibly."

"Thank you, Reverend Crisparkle."

Jasper sat back, his eyes shut. Words and memories crowded into his head, phantasms of that terrible time. Some of what Crisparkle described was familiar to him and other incidents were not the way he recalled them. He had had Landless and Ned around for supper on that Christmas Eve, he knew he had, but his recollection of it was so fragmented and embellished with opium delusions that he scarcely thought it had really happened.

He remembered waking up and finding Ned's bed unslept in.

He remembered having his hands around his throat, tightening his scarf until those blue eyes bulged and the fight left his body.

He remembered it so well.

Perhaps it really had happened. Did he know for certain that it hadn't?


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: More courtroom action – but I love writing it and it _is_ my birthday, so you'll have to bear with me. I should mention that I am indebted to the Dickens Fellowship's transcription of their 1914 _Trial of John Jasper_, which has been very valuable in terms of procedure and ritual, even though my trial has taken quite a different tack. And I didn't call the Defence Counsel Mr Crotch either.**

Jasper's lawyer had only a few questions for Crisparkle.

Was it not perfectly possible that Jasper's anxieties over the Drood/Landless _contretemps _were a simple case of an over-protective uncle fretting about his nephew's welfare? Yes, conceded Crisparkle, it was perfectly possible.

(For he was known to be over-protective of his nephew, wasn't he?

He was.

Indeed, it was almost something of a cathedral joke?

Yes, it was, an affectionate joke, of course, never meanly meant.

Oh, no doubt.)

And was the Reverend gentleman aware of some of the effects of prolonged or habitual opium use – one of which, according to the deposition of an expert witness, was delusions, many of them pertaining to imagined harm to oneself or a beloved object? No, not at all, Crisparkle knew very little about such things.

(But, having now been told, did it seem possible that perhaps Jasper's excessive worry about Landless might be attributable to his opium use?

Of course, if more learned men than he said so, he supposed he must consider it.)

Indeed, the counsel continued, Jasper's readiness to cry murder despite the lack of body or evidence might well have been entirely due to his opium use and consequent delusion. It seemed highly likely that these 'black humours' of which he spoke were opium dreams.

If the learned gentleman thought so, said Crisparkle, then of course it would have to be taken into account. He took the opportunity to reiterate his belief in Jasper's innocence and to bemoan the unfortunate nature of the case before being asked to stand down.

Jasper flicked his eyes over the jury, trying to work out which way their minds were tending, but it was impossible to tell. Rosa, in the gallery, was pale, her hand held tightly by Mrs Crisparkle.

"Call Helena Crisparkle."

Helena deliberately avoided looking at him on her way to the witness box. She held herself straight and levelled her gaze solely at the cross-examining counsel at all times.

"Mrs Crisparkle, you are the wife of the Reverend gentleman we called before, but would you care to tell the jury your maiden name?"

"Of course. It is Landless."

"And you are the twin sister of Neville Landless, about whom we have just been hearing?"

"I am."

"You arrived together from Ceylon a few days before Christmas of 1845. Your brother lodged with Reverend Crisparkle. Where were you placed?"

"I went to the Nuns' House school, sir."

"An educational establishment presided over by the Misses Twinkleton and Tisher; a place with an excellent local reputation."

Helena simply nodded.

"It must have been a very strange and unsettling time for you. What a long voyage to an unfamiliar country, and you only seventeen. But you found a friend here, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. Miss Rosa Bud."

"You met her at Mrs Crisparkle's Alternate Musical Wednesday, I believe. An interesting occasion, by all accounts. We have already heard of a certain mutual animosity that was fostered between Mr Drood and Mr Landless, but you noticed something else entirely, didn't you? What was that?"

"It became very clear to me, quite quickly, that Rosa Bud's music teacher had a regard for her to which he had no right."

"This would be John Jasper?"

"It would, sir."

"And what gave you that impression?"

Siddons rose to his feet. "This is all it is – an impression."

"Ah, I think not. Let the lady speak and we will see that her impression was quite substantiated by Miss Bud herself."

"At first it was just the way he looked at her. She was singing, and he accompanied her at the piano. He did not take his eyes off her the entire time. Later on, when we were in our room, she told me that he pursued her as a lover."

"Pursued her? His nephew's fiancée? So he had made a declaration?"

"No, sir, never anything expressed in words. But she was strongly sensible of his attentions, and they terrified her."

"That seems rather excessive. 'Terrified'."

"It is the word she used."

"Thank you, Mrs Crisparkle. I wish to ask you about one further occurrence. Some months later, I gather you were staying with your brother at the chambers of one Hiram Grewgious in London."

"Yes, it is where he was living under a form of house arrest."

"We have heard about that. On the night of June 22nd 1846, you received an unexpected visitor."

"Yes, it was Rosa."

"Rosa Bud?"

"Yes."

"She had not written to inform you of her intention to visit?"

"No, she had not planned the visit, sir. She had taken flight from Cloisterham."

"Taken flight? She felt endangered? Under threat?"

"Very much so."

"And what was the nature of the threat to her?"

"It was John Jasper. He persecuted her. He threatened to kill all her suitors."

Siddons leapt up. "Objection, my Lord, this is hearsay."

"Carried," agreed the Judge. "You did not hear him speak the words. I'm afraid I can't admit them."

"No," said Helena. "I did not hear him speak the words. But I saw how petrified Rosa was that night and how she cowered from the doorbell for months afterward. She herself said she thought he had killed Edwin, to clear a path to her. She believed it."

"Thank you, Mrs Crisparkle."

Siddons stood and looked around for a moment, as if choosing where best to take a bite from this peach of a witness.

"Mrs Crisparkle, you have told us a great deal about what Rosa Bud said and what Rosa Bud did and what Rosa Bud thought of John Jasper."

"It is what I have been asked."

"Quite so. And as Rosa Bud's opinion is so highly sought after, the gentlemen of the jury may be wondering why she is not being called as a witness. The reason is simple enough. Rosa Bud is no longer Rosa Bud. She is Mrs John Jasper."

There was a little frisson all the way around the public gallery. Jasper saw Rosa's cheeks stain scarlet. He smiled up at her, trying to send her whatever strength she might need.

"Therefore I must put it to you, Mrs Crisparkle, that, whatever Rosa Bud might have thought, Rosa Jasper thinks differently. For what woman would marry a man she believed to be the murderer of a once-beloved fiancé?"

"She has changed her view," said Helena stiffly.

"If only we could ask her her reasons. I can only assume that they must be extremely compelling indeed. Thank you, Mrs Crisparkle, I have no further questions."

Jasper felt a little rush of optimism that he tried to dispel. It was no use trying to analyse whether the balance of proceedings was in his favour or not. False hopes were worse than anything.

Neville Landless was called next, and questioned by the prosecution about Edwin's last movements and his subsequent removal from Cloisterham. Did he suspect at any time that Jasper might have had an ulterior motive in accusing him? No, not until Rosa Bud had arrived that night after escaping from the Nuns' House. That had made him see things very differently.

The defence counsel did a sterling job, though, revealing Neville's hopeless infatuation with Rosa and going on to suggest that, if Jasper knew where Drood's bones lay all that time, surely he could have manufactured their discovery, perhaps alongside some evidence planted to point the finger at Landless. Instead of which, he had allowed Neville to be released without demur, a year after the disappearance. As evil masterplans went, it wasn't the best.

A slightly sheepish Neville Landless left the witness box, trying to catch Rosa's eye and failing. Jasper's own efforts to fix him with a baleful 'I know you betrayed me' glare were similarly unsuccessful.

"Call Hiram Grewgious."

The Prosecution certainly seemed to have an awful lot of witnesses, thought Jasper, with a plummet of his heart.

"Mr Grewgious," opened Mr Cartwright. "Were you, at the time of the events we have been discussing, the legal guardian of Miss Rosa Bud?"

"Indeed I was, at the request of her late parents."

"And what was the nature of your role?"

"It was my duty to oversee and administer her financial affairs, her education and, of course, all matters pertaining to her betrothal to Mr Drood."

"And in that capacity, did you have some professional dealings with the defendant?"

"Yes. Mr Jasper was Mr Drood's guardian, so all paperwork regarding the forthcoming marriage was seen also by him. We corresponded now and again, though we met only rarely."

"Shortly before Christmas of 1845 you made a trip to Cloisterham, did you not?"

"Yes, one of my quarterly visits to Miss Bud, to ascertain that her health and welfare were what her parents would have wished."

"And I gather she had an unusual question for you."

"Yes. She was keen to know what the upshot for her might be of breaking off her engagement to Mr Drood."

"She didn't know?"

"She was only seventeen and quite ignorant of the law. She had taken a strange fancy that she might be legally bound to marry the young man, which was not, of course, the case. I disabused her of the notion accordingly."

"What was her reaction to this?"

"Why, she was relieved. I can only say that she was relieved."

"Did you speak further on the matter? Did she tell you she meant to break it off?"

"No, there was no explicit statement of that nature, but I had the strong impression that this might be her intended course of action."

"And when you met Mr Jasper later on that day…"

"We discussed the matter. And I told him of Miss Bud's apparent hesitancy."

"And how did he respond to this intelligence?"

"Well, at the time, I don't suppose I thought too much of it. He was rather a nervously disposed fellow who always seemed on the verge of some kind of…what can I say…? I don't know. I felt he ran rather deeper than one might suspect from his surface. He certainly didn't seem too disappointed or astonished on behalf of his nephew."

"The news didn't perturb him at all?"

"Oh yes, I would say that it did. But not in the way I would expect. It seemed rather to enliven his spirits, instead of depressing them."

"It was good news for him?"

"Well, as I say, at the time I thought nothing of it. But in the light of subsequent events, my mind has returned to the interview and recalled its air of…oddity."

"You also saw Mr Drood at that time?"

"Yes. Miss Bud's doubts led me to seek him out and try to establish his true feelings for her."

"Was he in good spirits?"

"Yes, he was perfectly cheerful. He had a headache, but that was all. He seemed optimistic about his future – including his future with Miss Bud. I concluded that any doubts as to the suitability of the match were entirely on the side of my ward."

"And she certainly did have her doubts, didn't she? As she told you after Mr Drood's disappearance."

"Dear me, yes, the poor girl was in a dreadful way. She thought he might have…done himself some harm."

"Committed suicide?"

"Yes, but of course that was a preposterous notion. Nothing about Mr Drood suggested that he was in anything but the best spirits at that time. I did my poor best to reassure her."

"Why did she think he might have sunk so low in such a brief space of time?"

"Well, because she had ended their engagement."

"The day of his disappearance?"

"That very day."

"And you were present at the brief meeting with the magistrate, Mr Sapsea, at which Mr Landless was placed under suspicion of Mr Drood's murder, were you not?"

"I was."

"Did you mention the broken engagement at that time?"

"I didn't. This was before my interview with Miss Bud."

"Did you think Mr Landless was guilty?"

"I had no view on the matter. I had never had dealings with Mr Landless and I did not even know that Mr Drood was dead. It seemed to me that Mr Jasper was entirely premature in making this presumption."

"You think he was convinced his nephew was dead?"

"He certainly seemed intent on opening a murder inquiry, yes."

"How did his manner strike you?"

"As rather importunately fixed on vengeance. For something that may never have passed. I put it down to fear, at the time…"

"But now you don't?"

"No. Now I don't."

"You suspect Mr Jasper of murdering his nephew?"

"Yes, I do."

"When did this suspicion arise?"

"Very shortly after the youth's disappearance. I went to call on Jasper, as a courtesy, really, before I returned to London with Mr Landless in my charge. Having seen his behaviour in the magistrate's house that morning, the conversation we had had about Miss Bud's possible desire to extricate herself from the engagement was preying on my mind. Something was not quite right about it. I hope you will excuse the rather vague description – my thoughts had not yet crystallised. I felt the need to get a little better acquainted with Mr Jasper – to try and understand him."

"How did you find Mr Jasper?"

"He was, as I expected, in rather a state. Brooding and dark as a thundercloud, if you'll excuse a picturesque turn of phrase."

"No, indeed, we at the Bar have a decided fondness for such things."

There was a moment of amiable laughter before Grewgious resumed, in which Jasper did not join.

This evidence would go badly for him. He scarcely remembered that day now, except in a visceral kind of way – the vicious knot in his stomach, the fogged consciousness, the pounding headache, the emptiness in his soul, as if it had been sucked away in the night. At the time of Grewgious' visit, he had just arrived home from searching the estuary. He had worn himself out with it, in the hope that he would then sleep an exhausted sleep, untroubled by conscience or fear of discovery. His toil struck him at the time as analagous to Lady Macbeth's washing of her hands. He had a vague idea that he would spend every day of his life from then onwards engaged in this fruitless searching. A prison of his own making, and well-deserved.

But if it meant he could have Rosa…

He had, in the event, soon tired of it and reverted to his former mode of existence, his mind preserving him from the worst of his guilt by pretending none of it had ever happened.

But it had happened. And here was Grewgious, with damning evidence of it.

"Do you recall much of your conversation?"

"Yes, it's rather seared on my mind, in fact. I said it was strange news, which he agreed with. He asked after Rosa and also wondered if I'd seen Miss Landless. This led me to ask if he suspected her brother. He said he did not know, and expressed some sympathy for Miss Landless. I wondered if perhaps I had misread him at that point, and thought of leaving, but I decided to persist."

"You were determined to tell him of the broken engagement?"

"Yes. So that is what I did."

"And what did he say to that?"

"He didn't _say_ anything, but he reacted in the most astonishing manner. One would think I was breaking the news of the boy's certain death, or worse. Having convinced me that he was on the point of some kind of seizure, he collapsed."

"Collapsed?"

"Yes – fainted away. In front of the fire."

"You surmised that this was bad news indeed to him?"

"Yes, I did."

"Why would the breaking of his nephew's engagement provoke such a strong reaction, in your view?"

"Because it would have rendered his killing quite unnecessary. He wanted Drood out of the way so he could get his hands on Rosa. But if she had freed herself from the bond…well…"

"He had sullied his soul to no purpose?"

"Quite so."

"Objection, this is speculation as to the thought processes of my client, which Mr Grewgious can hardly have been party to," drawled Mr Siddons.

"I'm inclined to agree," said the Judge. "No more assumptions of this kind, please, Mr Cartwright."

The prosecution counsel bowed briefly.

"Of course, it is for the jury to make up their own minds," he said. "Mr Grewgious, after this interview, did you act on your suspicions?"

"No, I didn't, for I considered them too slight at that time. They were reinforced, though, by my ward some months later."

"When she ran away from Cloisterham?"

"Yes. When she ran away from the unwanted attentions of John Jasper. Well, you can imagine what went through my mind. What manner of man would be trying to make proposals to the former fiancée of his missing nephew? If he was desperate enough to do that, well…"

"Miss Bud was not receptive to his advances?"

"Not in the least! She was terrified of the man. She herself thought him guilty of Mr Drood's murder. I cannot for the life of me understand why she has now gone and married him…I should never have sanctioned it in a thousand years, were she still underage."

"Thank you, Mr Grewgious. I have no further questions."

Mr Siddons rose to his feet.

"Yes, we understand, Mr Grewgious, that you have long disapproved of Mr Jasper as a suitable candidate for your ward's hand."

"With very good reason."

"Your disapproval is such that, on learning of the intended marriage between them, you wrote to the Kent constabulary to suggest they re-open the case of Mr Drood's disappearance."

Jasper started. It had been Grewgious and not Landless after all.

"Yes, I did. Despite all these years having passed with no body, I am still convinced of Jasper's guilt."

"Are you so very convinced, Mr Grewgious? Or is your meddling in this affair prompted by simple anger at his having captured the affections of your former ward?"

"Well, it has angered me, I can't deny, but ―"

"Yes, it has angered you, hasn't it? You cannot endure the knowledge that this woman has freely chosen as her mate a man you do not like. So you have stirred up mischief against him and, in so doing, you have exposed this poor woman to more anxiety and grief than can be measured. Do you really care for her?"

"She was my ward. I was responsible for her. I cannot see her make a mistake of this magnitude."

"So you thought you would try to have her husband hanged? What a marvellous discharge of that precious duty of care. I am moved, sir, deeply moved."

Grewgious, Jasper observed, looked grey and older than was his wont. He felt something akin to pity for him.

"He is a murderer," muttered Grewgious.

"Your attachment to Mrs Jasper is, I am led to believe, somewhat complex. I gather you knew her mother."

"I did indeed."

"Were you in love with her?"

"I…this is hardly germane…"

"Were you in love with her?"

"_Is _this germane?" asked the judge long-sufferingly.

"I believe so, my Lord. I believe it contributes to the witness's prejudice against my client."

"Very well, then I direct you to answer the question, Mr Grewgious."

He looked down at his feet for a long period of silence, then he whispered the word, "Yes."

"Does the daughter resemble the mother?"

"She does, very much so."

"And the idea of this woman, the image of she whom you idolised from afar, being joined with his man you so strongly dislike, has driven all rationality from your mind. You accuse him blindly and for your own personal reasons. Don't you, Mr Grewgious?"

"No, no, I still maintain…"

"But the subject is painful to all, and so I will move on. You mentioned that you had dealings with Mr Jasper in his capacity as Mr Drood's guardian."

Grewgious seemed to have been turned to stone for a moment, then he took out his pocket handkerchief, mopped his brow and nodded.

"Yes."

"Was he diligent in his duties?"

"Always."

"Did you have any doubts regarding his suitability?"

"No, no. As I have said, we met but rarely."

"It is a matter of record that my client was indeed in love with Rosa Bud, your ward, at the time of the disappearance. He admits it. Therefore, his reaction to being told of the possibility of their engagement being broken is perfectly understandable. It is not indicative of any sinister intent, surely."

"Is this a question? Do you require me to say something in response?"

"I apologise, Mr Grewgious. You are, of course, a lawyer and perfectly attuned to our little foibles. I am suggesting to you that Mr Jasper hoped Miss Bud would break the engagement with Mr Drood."

"That is so."

"That is the impression you derived?"

"It was, as I have said."

"So, when he reacted so strangely to your news of the broken engagement, you leapt to a conclusion. The conclusion that my client had killed Mr Drood. That is rather a leap, is it not?"

"You may consider it so. I don't."

"Mr Grewgious, on that day, my client had been out since early morning, searching the estuary for his nephew. He had taken neither breakfast nor lunch. He was exhausted in both body and mind. Under those circumstances, I imagine both you and I would suffer a similar turn. Is that a reasonable suggestion?"

"It might explain the faintness, but he looked utterly tormented. If you had _seen_ him…"

"Have you ever seen a man in the grip of opium dependency?"

"No, I have not."

"Are you quite sure of that?"

"Oh, I know Jasper was addicted to the stuff. I know it now, though I did not at that time."

"His behaviour may have seemed peculiar to you, but for a heavy opium smoker experiencing a moment of delusion, it is not so unusual."

"Well, you are educating me. I have no knowledge of it, and not much desire to get any."

"Ignorance fosters a great many false conclusions, Mr Grewgious, wouldn't you agree?"

Grewgious looked perfectly furious, but he nodded stiffly and muttered something that could have been, "Yes."

"Thank you. I have no further questions."

There followed some desultory questioning of the man who had found the cart, and the mortuary assistant who had examined the bones, then the prosecution case was declared closed.

Really, thought Jasper with some of that treacherous hope, it didn't amount to much. The bones were the great thing. But if only he could find someone to corroborate Princess Puffer's story…


	21. Chapter 21

While Siddons outlined his case for the defence, Jasper watched the countenances of the jury for any signs of sympathy or disbelief. They all seemed intent on looking studious and grave, though, and he couldn't discern how their thoughts might be tending.

The story of Edwin being lured to his unknown grandmother's house by an opium dealer sounded unlikely, of course. But he had the evidence of her neighbour to corroborate the family connection, plus another of the cottage-dwellers had seen him loading up the cart, which meant that the location of the bones was not in question.

Whether or not the mysterious 'Mrs Johnson' was Jasper's mother, Siddons said, she had certainly lived on top of Drood's bones for upwards of five years. Impossible that she should not have known something about it.

But of course, this didn't exonerate Jasper. There was nobody to say that he hadn't been there himself that night.

"As I have said before, my Lord," said Siddons to the judge, "we are in some difficulties as to ascertaining the whereabouts of our witness. However, I have had some instruction from my client, and I wonder if you would allow me to call somebody who has not been listed."

The Judge gave Siddons a withering stare.

"Somebody who has not been listed? You mean you wish an adjournment while we try to find another witness? Most irregular."

"No, with your Honour's permission, there will be no need to adjourn. For the witness we seek to examine is in this very room."

Everybody looked curiously at each other and a low murmur started up around the gallery.

"Well, I suppose I have no objection to it, if the person in question is amenable. Call your witness."

"Thank you, my Lord. I call – and I'm afraid we don't know the name of his baptism – the young gentleman known as Deputy."

Deputy leapt up and looked around wildly, as if for an escape route.

"I don't know nuffink," he insisted, but Rosa left her seat and took his hand and spoke some low words to him. He was listening eagerly and Jasper was desperate to know what she might be saying. Whatever it was, she didn't finish it, for her complexion developed a nauseous greenish tinge and she clamped her hand over her mouth, bolting for the back stairs.

Amid the general consternation, Jasper spoke from the dock some words of explanation.

"She is with child."

At that, Deputy turned and stared at him, his face pale.

"All right," he said, leaning over the gallery rail and looking down over the assembly. "I'll do it. I'll answer your questions."

He came down to take the oath – the clerk having first established that he knew the Bible and was a Christian – and stared fiercely at Jasper throughout.

Jasper was going to have to conduct this cross-examination himself, as it dealt with material his counsel had no knowledge of, so he looked over at the Judge, who nodded at him, took a deep breath, and spoke.

"Is somebody attending to my wife?"

"This is not part of the cross-examination, I take it?" said the Judge dryly. "I'm sure she is being taken care of. Please proceed to question your witness."

"Of course. She expects a child, you see, so I'm…"

"Mr Jasper! Proceed, or I will place you in contempt of court."

"Very well. Deputy – should I call you Deputy?"

"It's Mr Roker to you," he said, folding his arms.

"Mr Roker, then. We met, did we not, on one occasion earlier this year."

"Yes, we did. Not through any wish of mine, though. I'd have been happy never to see your mug again."

"Yes, be that as it may, perhaps you could tell the jury with whom you lodge at present."

"With Durdles."

"The stonemason?"

"Don't know any other Durdles around here, do you?"

"To whom did you open Durdles' door on that morning in April?"

"You know it."

"The jury does not."

"To you. And that lovely girl – Rosa, is it?"

"Mrs Jasper to you."

"Don't get narky with me, mister. You've picked the wrong lad to put the threats on."

But there was laughter in the courtroom at Jasper's neat inversion of Deputy's earlier hostility, and it spurred him on.

"What were you asked to do?"

"To get a key, and let you into the Sapsea vault."

Suddenly the courtroom was silent. The gentlemen of the jury leant forwards as one, keen not to miss a word.

"That's right. You came with us, didn't you, to the cathedral?"

"I did. Couldn't risk losing one of Durdles' keys. He'd have me…sorry. Nearly forget meself there. But I'd be in hot water, any rate."

"And who was it who unlocked the vault?"

"Why, it was me, of course."

"And what did you find in there?"

"Well, nothing much. Just the usual, you know. The tombs and whatnot. Some cobwebs."

"But no bones?"

"No, nothing like that."

"So you are quite clear that there were no bones in the Sapsea vault?"

"I've said so, ain't I?"

"Thank you, Dep―, that is, Mr Roker."

"That it?"

"My, er, learned friend may have some questions for you."

Mr Cartwright took his cue and gave Deputy a long look.

"This is irregular and I have had no opportunity to prepare, but I feel compelled to ask…you and the prisoner do not seem to be on amiable terms. Why is that?"

"Objection!" said Jasper, but the Judge waved his hand.

"Your brief legal career is now at an end, Mr Jasper, I suggest you allow your counsel to take things from this point."

"'E tried to strangle me," said Deputy indignantly. "I swear on my life. He had me by the throat and I thought I was a goner."

Consternation grew into uproar.

Jasper shut his eyes and slumped forwards on the dock bar. A cold sweat broke out above his upper lip and the noise around him sounded as if it came from afar, waves crashing in his head. He was going to hang. He might as well accept it. He was going to hang.

The Judge hammered his gavel with a will while the Clerk called most strenuously for order, which slowly returned to the court.

"Mr Roker, you have made a serious accusation. Did you report this alleged assault at the time?"

"No. I'm a workus boy. He was a choirmaster. Who'd believe me over him? There weren't no point. But he did it."

"Surely there would have been bruises?"

"I was always covered in bruises, mister. He'd say I'd got it roughhousing in the street with my pals. Come on, don't deny it. Nobody takes no notice of a boy like me."

"Then it's a poor state of affairs," said Mr Cartwright sombrely, "when a child can be half-killed in the street and find no recourse to law. A poor state of affairs indeed."

The appalled hush which greeted this remark lent an air tacit agreement to the atmosphere.

"So," resumed Cartwright, "we know that there were no human remains in that vault at that time. Not a startling revelation, as we know that those bones had been at the house of this woman, Mrs Johnson, who may or may not have been the prisoner's mother. And, thanks to this young man, we have made a discovery of a much more valuable nature. The discovery of the prisoner's wickedly violent nature."

Rosa had by now returned to the courtroom, looking stricken by the changed air in the room and the way the wave of opinion had turned so completely against her husband.

"Oh, but he is not guilty," she cried. "He did not kill Edwin."

"Young woman," said the judge, "I shall commit you for contempt of court if you cannot hold your tongue."

"Leave her be," said Jasper hotly.

"And _you_ I most certainly shall commit, before I find myself in the same position as that unfortunate young man in the witness box once did."

Jasper threw up his hands in frustrated ire, but he knew it would be no use to speak again. Instead he exchanged an anguished look with Rosa.

"Thank you, Mr Roker," said Cartwright smoothly. "You may stand down."

But Deputy did not move from his position in the box. Instead, he looked between Rosa and Jasper, and then at the judge, and then at his feet, and finally he cleared his throat.

Jasper forgot his anger and fixed Deputy with a look of astonished curiosity. For the boy looked genuinely haunted and fearful.

"I…the thing is…I don't want to get into trouble."

"Trouble?" said the Judge. "Have you been entirely honest with us?"

"Everything I've said's been the truth, I swear. But…if I tell you I know something…but I never told nobody…will I get into trouble?"

"What is it that you know, boy?" asked the Judge, impatient now. "You have sworn to tell the _whole_ truth. You will be answerable to a higher power than this court if you withhold information necessary to the due process of justice."

"I…s'pose you're right. Oh Lor'. I don't want to go down to the flames. And if he hangs, she suffers…oh. I have to tell it. I can't keep it under me 'at no longer."

Jasper literally quivered with anticipation. Rosa's eyes were fit to pop from her head.

"Thing is, your lordship, your honour. I know 'e didn't do it."

The collective intake of breath was like an inverse gust of wind around the room.

"Oh, Deputy," cried Rosa.

"How?" exclaimed Jasper, clawing at the dock bar as if he meant to vault over it and repeat his earlier misdemeanour with Deputy's throat. "Why have you said nothing?"

"Mr Jasper!" snapped the Judge. "Guilty or not of murder, I am quite tired of your contempt for this court. Desist from this behaviour or I shall have you taken down to the cells to compose yourself."

Easy enough for the Judge to say such things, thought Jasper with incredulity. Would he be so calm if he had just had the threat of certain death lifted?

"I'm sorry I never said nothing," said Deputy, clearly on the verge of tears. "I just thought if someone was going to swing for it, it might as well be you. But now I know you've up and married that lovely girl…I don't want her baby to 'ave no father…"

"Never mind that," said the Judge. "State your evidence for this assertion that the prisoner at the bar did not commit murder."

Deputy made an effort to control his breathing then spoke, looking all the time at Rosa.

"Christmas Eve, there was that storm. And I wanted to be out in it. I didn't want to be watching it through the window bars at the workhouse. I'm for the outdoors, me. When something's going on, I like to take a look at it."

Jasper felt as if his collar was strangling him. He put two fingers in the top and tugged at it, trying to free his airway.

"I thought I might go and look for Durdles. He didn't want my usual service, on account of its bein' Christmas Eve, but I thought he might want company all the same."

"Your usual service?" said the Judge.

"That's right – someone mentioned it before. I used to stone him home. Make sure he didn't fall asleep in the graveyard, you see. But 'e didn't have to work Christmas Day, so he could stay out as late as he liked."

"So you went looking for Mr Durdles?" The Judge asked. "And what time of night was this?"

"Past workhouse bedtime. But I knew all the dodges. I 'eard the cathedral bells chime the 'alf hour as I walked through the Close, so I think it was half past ten or thereabouts. I couldn't find Durdles so I took a stroll up the High Street and followed the Waits around town. I even tried to join in with 'em, but I ain't no singer and they wouldn't let me."

Scattered laughter greeted this statement.

"The storm got too powerful for 'em and they fetched up in one o' the public houses by the marketplace. Well, I couldn't go in there, could I? So I thought I'd go for a walk up by the cathedral and maybe down by the sea, cos that'd be the best place to see the waves crashing and whatnot. It was getting late by then – about midnight, maybe."

"This tells us nothing about the accused man's guilt or lack thereof," the judge reminded him.

"No, I know, but I was getting to it. If I wanted to get from the High Street to the cathedral, I had to pass underneath his gatehouse. Just as I was getting into the arch, I heard voices, so I hid myself in a corner and waited. Two young gentlemen came out."

"Who were these two young gentlemen?"

"Well, I didn't know either of 'em, but I'd suppose they was the dead bloke and the one from Ceylon."

"You saw them leave Mr Jasper's lodgings?"

"I saw their backs. They walked on towards the cathedral. They looked and sounded a little bit the worse for drink, and I suppose they must've been, cos they didn't think to shut the door after 'em."

"They left the lower door open?"

"Not just the lower door. I went over and peeked inside, and I could see a crack of light at the top of the stair, like the door was a little bit ajar."

"I see. And what did you do then?"

"Well, it gave me an idea, you see. Cos I wanted my revenge on that feller there. He needn't think he could get away with what he did to me. I decided I was going to give 'im a proper fright."

The courtroom was silent now, every eye trained on the youngster.

"I 'ad a box of firecrackers what'd fallen off the back of a barrow. I was going to use 'em instead of stones on Durdles. Thought he might get less bruises, see. And I was a bit worried I might kill him one of these nights, without meaning to. I thought I'd creep up to the top of Jasper's stairs and chuck a couple of 'em in there. Serve 'im right, I thought."

"A reckless course of action, but do please proceed," advised the Judge.

"So I did it. I went up the steps and threw in the crackers, but nothing 'appened. I couldn't understand it. No shouts, no leaping up, no rushing to the door. I waited on the bottom step, ready to run, but I couldn't tell if he'd heard 'em or not. Well, it struck me that perhaps I'd frighted him to death. It can happen. I've heard stories. I thought, best go back up there and check."

"And what did you find?"

"He was in his armchair. I thought he might be dead. I couldn't tell if he was breathing or not and he had that whiteness about the face, you know. I went a bit closer and I saw he'd dropped something on the floor. It was a bottle of laudanum, a big 'un. There was a glass on its side on the table beside him, with spilled wine dripping on the floor too. He was that corned, nothing was going to wake him."

"By which you intend us to understand that the prisoner was in a state of advanced intoxication?"

"Very advanced, your Honour. Worse'n Durdles. It'd have taken a bloomin' rock to shift 'im from that chair."

"So you left the room?"

"After I left me calling card, yes. Which I'd better not describe with ladies present in the courtroom, but let's just say his water jug had a different kind of water in it when he woke up the next morning…"

"That was you!" Jasper could not help expostulating. He had thought he must have done it himself, in his deliriously opiated state.

"I went back down the steps," continued Deputy, "and I looked out into the storm. I saw two people walking up towards the gatehouse so I hid myself in the stairwell till they passed. But one of 'em got hold of the outside door and seemed about to open it. I thought 'e was coming straight in and I was going to be found out. But the lady 'e was with persuaded him to go with her, and I watched 'em pass through the Gatehouse and turn on to the High Street."

Jasper shut his eyes, overwhelmed almost to the point of tears. What Deputy said tallied exactly with Princess Puffer's story.

"Could you describe the pair?" asked the Judge.

"Again, I didn't see 'em too well, but he was a young feller, bit flash, fair-haired, unsteady on his pins. She was a lot older, a drab in a shawl, I couldn't tell you much more'n that."

"What did you do after that?"

"The storm was so bad I was scared to go out again. A tree fell right across the other side of the path and there was branches and whatnot flying everywhere. I decided I was safest bedding down on the bottom step there until it died down."

"So you slept there at the Gatehouse?"

"I can't say as I did, no. I didn't sleep. But I spent the night there. When the storm dropped it was seven or half-past and I thought I'd best get back to the workhouse if I wanted my Christmas breakfast. I crept up the stair and had a look at _him_ before I went, but he was still dead to the world."

"In other words, you have sworn to us that John Jasper spent the entire night of his nephew's disappearance asleep, under the influence of heavy narcotics, in his lodging house?"

"Yes. I couldn't have been him. And I'm sorry I didn't come forward earlier, truly I am. I hope you can forgive it."

"Young man, I'm inclined to be lenient with you, but you must consider that your silence, had you not broken it, could well have led to a grave miscarriage of justice and the death of an innocent man."

"I know, your Honour." Deputy's voice, so chirpy and confident, was now a whisper.

The Judge did not quite dismiss the case, accepting the Prosecution's contention that Drood could have been killed after Christmas Eve, but in his summing up to the jury he made it clear that there was no clear evidence of murder at all and much to suggest that Jasper's version of events was the correct one.

The jury didn't stay out for long but, as far as Jasper was concerned, it might as well have been a thousand years. He waited in the downstairs cell, eyes shut, far away from the muttering and jostling of his fellow prisoners, imagining the drop. The drop, then the darkness. Where would he go after that? Would he ever do enough to expiate his transgressions? Was there enough goodness and charity in the world for that?

He thought of Rosa, bilious and terrified, facing an uncertain future for herself and her child. How had he put her through this? Why could he seem to do nothing but torture her? She should have heeded Helena Landless's imprecations and turned from him.

As if he would have let that happen.

Somebody called down the staircase and the marshal took Jasper's upper arm, preparatory to helping him to his feet.

"Verdict's in," he said gruffly. "Look lively."

Jasper had rarely felt less lively in his life, but he made the arduous journey up the stairs for the final time and limped into the dock once more.

Rosa, in the gallery, gripped the brass hand rail and gazed down at him with eyes that seemed to communicate every strong emotion in the human lexicon. Faith, terror, anguish, love. Most of all, love.

If he was going to hang, at least he had been loved. And so loved, by such a woman.

It was enough to bring a twitch to his lips, but it remained there only until the foreman of the jury rose to his feet.

"Have you reached a verdict upon which you are all agreed?"

"We have."

"And do you find the prisoner, John Jasper, guilty or not guilty of murder?"


	22. Chapter 22

When he recalled that moment, later, he could never quite capture it. It was as if he hadn't really let it sink in, however much he tried. Instead, he could only picture the people rising to their feet, hear the babel of voices and the roar of blood in his ears. And Rosa, fainting.

He always stopped there, because he couldn't think beyond it. Rosa had fainted. Was she all right? Nothing else mattered.

Even the jovial smile on the marshal's face.

"You can go now. Didn't you 'ear 'im? You're free to go."

"Oh. Of course." He looked distractedly at the marshal and then back to Rosa, who was being attended to by all the women in the gallery, each of them proffering bottles of sal volatile from their reticules. "Yes."

"Come on. We need this for the next villain."

Jasper managed to find a speck of focus from somewhere.

"Who are you calling a villain? I'm not guilty."

"Course you ain't, squire, course you ain't. Now shove it."

Jasper's limp somehow managed to express proud indignation as he left the dock and tried to ascertain the best path to Rosa.

"Clear this court," insisted the clerk, shooing people out of the galleries. "There are other cases to try."

By the time Jasper worked out how to reach the gallery, Rosa had been carried out of it. He made his way out on to the courthouse steps, where people milled in throngs, many of them taking a lively interest in him, but he had nothing in his mind but finding Rosa.

At last, he caught sight of Neville Landless leaning gloomily against a pillar.

"Landless, where is my wife? Is your sister with her?"

"I believe so. They are in a room inside there. A waiting room of some kind."

"Thank you." He paused for the merest moment. "Before I go…I owe you an apology of long standing. I should never have accused you of Edwin's murder."

"No, you shouldn't."

"I regret it now, most sincerely. I wish you well."

"I wish you well also. For to wish you ill is to wish Rosa ill, and I would never do that. She loves you, Jasper. Be thankful."

"I am."

He nodded awkwardly, then passed back inside the courthouse, intent on finding his wife.

When he opened the door of a side room, a collective female gasp met his appearance, together with a great many flapping hands trying to push him back out.

"A man!"

"I have loosened her stays, send him out."

"Oh, it is her husband."

Each of the half-dozen women looked towards him, eyes bright with curiosity. As for Rosa, she lay slumped on the floor, propped against a chair, while various hands wafted various bottles beneath her nose. She had the appearance of a wax doll and for a second Jasper feared she might be dead.

"You can all go," he said brusquely, coming to kneel by her side. "Leave me with her. She will be well."

"Do you have salts?" asked one of the ladies dubiously.

"She has fainted, that is all," he said. "Please, you don't assist by crowding around her. Give her a little room, I pray you."

Last to leave was Helena Crisparkle, who stood at the door and looked at Jasper for a long, almost accusing, moment before joining the rest outside.

He cradled her in his arms and stroked her hair, waiting for her to revive, as he knew she would. Her skin was clammy and cold but eventually it warmed and he knew she would soon open her eyes. He was ridiculously excited about the idea of her waking up in his arms, for the first time in so many weeks. In fact, if he timed it exactly right, perhaps he could wake her, Sleeping-Beauty-like, with a…

He tilted her face up and pressed his lips to hers.

Magically, wonderfully, her eyes flew open. They were hazy and unfocused at first and he felt her heart hammering inside her loosened bodice, as if in panic, but then she melted against him and murmured, "Oh, it is you."

The very words she had spoken to him when she first recognised him after her rescue from the seas. But that time she had not followed them with, "My love." Neither had she laid her head on his chest and wept tears of relief and happiness.

"Hush, it is all over now," he soothed, rocking her in his arms. "It is all over and I can take you home."

Once she was strong enough to stand, he helped her to her feet and walked, slowly but steadily, Rosa on his arm, out of the side room.

A crowd had gathered by the door, all aware that a reunion was taking place – the reunion of the girl who had thrown over a nephew for an uncle, who had then been accused of killing him. Everybody wanted to take a look at this unusual Cloisterham phenomenon.

Fortunately, the Crisparkles took it upon themselves to keep the worst of it at bay, policing the crowd and asking them to disperse, though most were loth to do so.

"There they are!" called a boy. "'E got off lightly, I reckon. Even if he didn't do it. He took his nephew's girl!"

"She's no better than she should be either," commented another.

Jasper, tempted to lash out but knowing that his ankle would not favour him, simply walked through the furore while Rosa kept her eyes to the ground. As they made their way down the courtroom steps, Crisparkle hastened after them.

"I say," he said. "I do wish you'd come and spend the night with us before returning to London. You must be terribly tired and Rosa is feeling the strain. We'd love to offer our hospitality."

"I'm obliged to you, Crisparkle, but I want to be alone with my wife. Perhaps on another occasion…"

"I understand. But please feel welcome to visit us whenever you like."

"I will. Good afternoon."

It was necessary to hire a cab to take them the short distance from the assize court to the railway inn, just to shake off the mob, equal parts well-wisher and cat-caller, that chased them down the steps.

Rosa held on to his hands as if she feared they might dissolve away from her and wove her fingers together with his.

"You are here. I cannot believe it. It is like a dream."

"I keep expecting the judge to come after us and tell us it was a mistake and the jury meant to find me guilty," confessed Jasper, looking out through the back window to make sure that this was not indeed happening.

"That cannot happen. You are free. We can leave Cloisterham forever."

"You should never have come back," said Jasper, raising an eyebrow at her. "I told you to stay at home."

"What a ridiculous thing to expect of me."

"What if you had lost the child?"

"Jasper, you are five minutes out of prison and already you are scolding me. Do not blame me for loving you."

His features relaxed and he pulled her closer into his side.

"Of course I cannot blame you for that," he said. "But you will take better care of yourself from now on, or I shall have stronger words than this to say about it."

"I promise," she said meekly, laying her head on his shoulder. "Are we going home now?"

He shook his head. "I have various unpleasant duties to discharge first. I must collect my belongings from the gaol and I must visit Caroline – my mother's – grave. And then there are Ned's bones… But I cannot think about all that now. It can all be done tomorrow."

At the mention of the bones, Rosa shivered a little in Jasper's arms.

"Poor Eddy," she said.

"Poor Rosebud," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"Impoverished Rosebud," she agreed. "I'm afraid we must sell the house immediately, for I have spent hundreds of pounds on legal fees."

"Innocence is costly."

"Not as much as guilt is."

"No."

At the railway inn, they took a room and ordered food to be delivered to it. On opening the door into the chamber, with its uneven floorboards and old-fashioned curtained bed, there was a moment of peculiar shyness, as if neither of them remembered what they should do when alone together.

Rosa lifted her eyes to Jasper and he saw how her bodice rose and fell and a scarlet bloom flushed her cheeks. He had spent every moment of the last six years desiring her, but he had never wanted her more than he did now. But he did not know how to convey it to her.

He reached out and laid his palm against her stomach, now very slightly rounded beneath the severe corset strings. The suggestion of curve set his blood on fire. It was his mark upon her, and it couldn't be disguised.

"The baby," whispered Rosa. "He will know his father now."

Jasper nodded, swallowing.

"And his mother," he whispered back, his mouth turning downwards at the corners.

"Yes, yes," she said urgently, stepping towards him, putting her arms about his neck. "We will be a family. We will be so happy."

Her hands were on his neck. It could so easily have been the knotted hemp. He felt faint with the enormity of it all. His head bent as if of its own accord and his lips sought Rosa's, drawing them into a kiss of passionate urgency.

Every night in his prison bed he had dreamed of kissing her like this once more, trying to catalogue in his memory every dimple and freckle of her. It had been the only way to find sleep some nights. He gathered her close and made her feel his intentions for her. Oh, but…

He broke off, his hand moving back down to her stomach.

"Is it safe?" he asked. "Does it harm the child if we…?"

"I doubt it," she said with a self-conscious smile. "If so, I suppose the harm has already been done, since I think I must have conceived before we were wed…"

Jasper kissed her ruefully downturned lips.

"Ah," he said. "We are continuing my family tradition, are we?"

"No, we are not! He will be _born_ in wedlock, even if he wasn't…Look, surely you want to take the weight off that foot. It must be painful."

"I hadn't even noticed."

"I believe you, you ridiculous man. Go and sit on the bed and I'll take off your boots for you."

Boots, gowns, waistcoats, corsets, all fell by the wayside at a rapid pace until only bare skin shivered in the January cold, warmed less by the fitful flicker from the grate than by the close proximity of another body.

If Jasper's convalescing ankle hampered him, it was only minimally, for their need for each other overrode all over considerations and they joined together within minutes of shedding the last vestiges of clothing.

It was many hours before anything other than sighs and moans and cries of ecstasy could be heard alongside the crackling of the fire in that darkening room. Neither of them noticed the puffing and clanking of trains outside, or the clopping of hooves on the cobbles, or even the knock on the door when the food arrived.

It was found later, quite congealed and half-eaten by the tavern dog. They had to go down and order another meal, while Rosa avoided the knowing eyes of the staff and tried very hard not to yawn her way through the pigeon pie.

"You must eat it all," he said, waving away occasional curious interlopers into their obscure corner of the inn. "I insist. Don't leave the vegetables."

"You do fuss so, Jasper."

"I suppose you mean I am solicitous, which is what a husband should be."

"I suppose I do." She smiled at him, a rather wicked smile, full of unspoken references to the pleasures they had so lately shared.

For the first night in a long time, Jasper slept well and dreamed of nothing.

A Crisparkle Christmas was always a warm affair, coloured red and green and bathed in a golden glow from the fire.

"One more carol, just one more," begged the older Mrs Crisparkle as Jasper rose from the piano in the corner, but he shook his head.

Rosa and Helena appeared at the foot of the stairs together by the big decorated fir tree in the hallway.

"Is Jack sleeping?" asked Jasper anxiously.

Rosa nodded.

"And Louisa?" asked Reverend Crisparkle of his wife.

"She is settled," said Helena. "All the fuss and excitement has exhausted her."

"Not one but two babies in the house at Christmastide," said old Mrs Crisparkle with vast satisfaction. "It's more than I thought I'd see again at my time of life."

"Nonsense, mother, you'll outlast us all," said Septimus, patting the maternal knee.

Jasper moved over to the window and peered out into the cathedral close.

"The snow has stopped," he noted. He turned to Rosa. "Shall we take our constitutional?"

Rosa nodded.

"Excuse us," said Jasper to the room in general, heading for the coat pegs by the door.

"We should walk off some of that meal too," Crisparkle suggested, attempting to rise from his armchair, but Jasper put out a hand to stop him.

"We have graves to visit," he said. "And would prefer to be alone."

"Oh. Oh. Of course." Crisparkle, not ungratefully, sank back into the cushions.

Rosa, wrapping her shawl around her, made an apologetic face. "We shan't be long," she said. "If Jack wakes, just walk up and down with him and sing to him. He likes singing."

"That's as well," said old Mrs Crisparkle. "I suppose he hears a lot."

Jasper smiled at her and bowed his head, prior to pulling on his gloves and opening the door to a blast of cold wind.

Outside, their cheeks rapidly reddened in the cruel gusts, but Jasper and Rosa trod the snowy path undeterred. He took her hand as they entered the cathedral under the gothic stone archway and walked silently up the nave.

They had, out of respect to their hosts, attended the Christmas morning service earlier, and it had been a most peculiar experience for Jasper to have to listen to the choir instead of conduct them. It was like returning to one's home country, only to find that one was only allowed to cross it by train instead of setting foot on its beloved ground. He had irritated Rosa with his constant tutting and complaining about the music until she had moved, Jack asleep in her arms, further along the pew towards Helena.

When Jack had woken up and started bawling, he had seized the opportunity to go outside with him and walk up and down the Close in the snow, singing Schubert Lieder to him until he stopped and yawned and wrapped his tiny hand around Jasper's fingers, a gesture that never failed to touch him.

He wondered what Rosa was thinking in there, facing the organ loft where they had spent that strange night.

Now they were back in the cathedral, alone on Christmas Day afternoon, walking towards the staircase that led to the vaults.

On the bars of the Drood tomb was nailed a new inscription. Jasper and Rosa stood before it, reading it over and over until Rosa crept inside his arm and laid her head against him. He let her dab her eyes on his muffler and tightened his grip on her.

"He won't be forgotten," he whispered.

Rosa shook her head, too tearful to speak.

"Do you ever wonder what he'd think?" she said, as they made their way back up the crypt stairs. "If he could see us now. Married, with a child."

"I hope he'd understand, and wish us well."

Jasper wished he could be convinced of this, but perhaps he would simply have to accept that not everybody was going to approve of him. He had thought of killing his nephew, after all, and probably did not deserve his postmortem forgiveness.

This dark thought accompanied him all the way down to the water's edge, where Rosa led him with determination and fortitude through the uneven ground and stiff, icy grasses.

"The last time I came here, I broke my ankle," he remarked, tripping over a rock that could well have been the culprit.

"I have not come here to think about that time," she said.

At the water's edge, she stopped and looked out over the grey waters in which blobs of snow drifted and melted. In the distance, under iron skies, old hulks of foundered vessels lay, their outlines grim.

"Everyone I loved always died," she said softly. "My parents, my poor Eddy, my lovely, ill-used Tartar."

Jasper tried to hide a wince at the mention of his predecessor, but he reminded himself that she was entitled to her feelings and tried to accord them some respect.

"I thought this was a place of death and it became something else," she continued, looking up at him. "The water had taken so much from me, but it wouldn't take me. Instead it gave me something."

"If I hadn't been here…" said Jasper, with a twitching shudder.

"You were the very last person I wanted to see."

"I know. It's understandable, I suppose."

"I still don't know how you won me over."

"Neither do I."

The snow began to fall again, settling on the brim of Jasper's hat and on Rosa's eyelashes and nose.

"Let us go back. Jack will wake and find himself among strangers," said Jasper.

"They won't be strangers for long. Not if we come back to Cloisterham. Are you sure you can bear it?"

Jasper took a deep breath.

"I was unhappy here, but with you, everything will be different. And we cannot afford to live in London any longer. And the Dean wants to give me another chance as choirmaster, and a larger dwelling. So…"

"It will be so much better than it was, Jasper. And I am much happier for Jack to grow up here than in those filthy London streets, with all the dirt and disease. I am constantly terrified that he will catch something."

"I know. It is the right thing to do. The sensible thing. This water gave you to me, and perhaps I shouldn't stray too far from it."

"Perhaps not." She took his hand and held it for a while, looking over the rippling depths. "Now, let's come in from the cold, love."


End file.
